#and instead of feeling compelled to draw (what i normally do and am most comfortable doing)

[mokutone]

Your tags on this post made me think that if there's any childhood pics of Yamato, they'd be absolutely cursed. Most of them probably progress and experiment contexts... and then for some reason there's one where, idk, it's just a tiny Yamato holds a kunai in his hand and the first (and only) time Kakashi stumbles upon it when he goes through the ROOT files he has a sudden moment of recognition and connection and then makes sure all those files will never ever be opened by anyone again.

oh this captured my imagination a little bit. hoo hoo. here, have something i don't usually do, write:

“Hey, Tenzō. Look at this.”

Yamato glanced up from his lunch to see Kakashi hauling a dense looking box of papers and folders onto the already-crowded Hokage desk.

“Taking on additional responsibility, I see,” Yamato said mildly, leaning back against the window behind him to get a better angle of the boxes sides, see if there’s a label. “How bold of you, Hokage-Sama.”

“There’s nothing which aids procrastination better than additional, unrelated work,” Kakashi said, dispensing his ill-gotten wisdom with two smiling, inky-black eyes. Yamato smiled back crookedly, and put his lunch to the side, finally rising to join Kakashi in whatever this new distraction was.

The box had dense chipboard sides and top, and hints of discoloration from unhindered mildew around the corners, and by the lip of the lid. There was a label on the lid’s front, but it was rusted so thoroughly that the paper had been eaten and stained so thorughly that it was unreadable. When he touched the sides, it was colder than the room they were in.

“Sai found it,” Kakashi said, as Yamato lifted the lid.

Ah. This was from Root, then. The dismantling of Danzō’s organization demanded a lot of cleanup, a lot of compiling and collection of Danzō’s libraries and resources and re-allocation of them into Konoha’s information, library, and data collections. If Kakashi was bringing this one straight here, rather than letting the experts notate, collect, label, and distribute this information, it must have been something he wanted privilege over—something too sensitive to immediately be shifted into Konoha’s resources.

Taking a guess, Yamato slid his hand among the side of the papers, feeling for the slick, cardstock texture of a photograph among the typewritten papers.

“Well, would you look at that,” Yamato said, as he felt Kakashi’s keen gaze slip from him to the image in his hand. It was of a sallow, gaunt creature that had never seen the sun, with long brown hair, wetted and slicked by preservative biofluids so that it was nearly black, legs that must have been trembling at the time of the photo which stuck out like twigs from beneath a thin, rough-textured cotton medical gown. The eyes that stared out at him though, were familiar, curious.

“It seems like they’ve finally declassified my baby photos,” Yamato said, and he tried to keep his voice light and humorous, but he tripped over a lump in his throat.

Yamato could feel Kakashi’s eyes leave the photo, and return to him, and so he turned, and pressed the photo into Kakashi’s hands before stepping back to his seat on the window, and lifting up his lunch again.

“We could burn them,” Kakashi suggested.

“That sounds like a bad idea,” Yamato replied through a wry smile. “Thanks for the offer though, always good to know you’re willing to destroy state secrets for a friend.”

“If being the hokage means I can’t even destroy my personal guard’s formerly classified medical documents anymore, then I don’t even know why I left Jōnin,” Kakashi replied, though he started picking through the box again.

Yamato resumed eating, finding himself colder and hungrier than he had been even minutes ago.

“What do you want done with it, Tenzō?” Kakashi eventually asked.

“I don’t particularly care. It can enter Konoha’s forbidden documents division, I suppose. There’s probably important details about how I was created in there, they might be of use for Konoha down the line, I suppose. Perhaps the next time, the experiments can be done consensually, and with less casualties, and perhaps without the more dehumanizing elements of all that.”

“Grim,” Kakashi commented.

“Pragmatic,” Yamato countered. He was fairly sure that there would be a next time—even if Orochimaru somehow miraculously died, even if he was somehow stopped, there would be someone else. There would be, once again, a demand for an otherwise extinct Kekei-genkai.

“I know how easy that section is to break into. I don’t know. Do you really want it in there? Even Sakura and Naruto could probably get in, if they tried, and you know how bad they are at stealth missions.”

“And whose fault is that, Hokage-sama?”

Kakashi gave him a sour look, probably about his continued use of the honorific. Yamato knew he was getting to Kakashi a little bit. “Yours. Don’t you still train new Anbu recruits? They’re not up to par.”

Yamato bowed deeply without leaving his seat, so that his nose brushed his knees, holding his meal aside with one hand. “My most sincere apologies, Hokage-Sama, I w—”

“Piss off,” Kakashi snapped. “You know you’re pretty much the only person in this village who still calls me that?”

Yamato sat back up, very pleased with himself.

Kakashi sighed, and looked back down at the box, and Yamato watched as he did, one of his hands leaving the white, voluminous robes to pick through a couple files at random, and then shuffle them back in.

“You were very young,” Kakashi said softly, looking at another document, which seemed (by a paperclip at the top) to have another photo attached.

“Most children are young,” Yamato noted, after another bite. “You probably were too, I imagine.”

“I suppose I was.”

“You’ll likely find mostly medical files and Kinoto and Danzō’s notes on my progress. I don’t think there’s much else to be recorded in there.”

“You don’t want to see any of that,” Kakashi guessed.

“I know what it will say, I lived it. As for the stuff that I don’t know, I’m happy not knowing.”

Kakashi tapped the edge of the box. “Does me looking at these bother you?” He asked.

Yamato looked out the window, where the afternoon sun was lowering but hot and bright and golden. Did it bother him? He didn’t think so.

“I understand why it’s interesting—but I’m not in that box. Whatever we would find in that box isn’t me. You know? Whatever you want to do with it, I don’t really care.”

Kakashi nodded, and put the paper in his hands back into the box, then placed the lid back where it had been.

“I’m going to put these somewhere very safe, for a while. I don’t think these should be back in circulation,” Kakashi said. “Not yet. Not for a while.”

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

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[fakecrfan]

Do you think Basira and Daisy had a healthy relationship?

I am so glad you asked! I have had a lot of thoughts about their relationship, but had decided to shelve those thoughts because I was worried it would come off as me telling people to not ship Daisira, which is... not what I want to be doing. But you sent me an Ask and so I am compelled to answer!

My answer is: no. Their relationship is toxic in one of the most interesting ways I have seen portrayed in media.

This might be a bit confusing to hear, though. Normally when we call a relationship toxic, it means that one or both of the people involved are making each other feel bad. But Daisy and Basira seem to make each other feel... good. Basira is apparently Daisy’s last human attachment, and according to Elias in MAG 92, and “not being able to see Basira again” is one of Daisy’s biggest laments in the coffin. And on Basira’s end, Daisy seems to make Basira feel... secure. Supported.

From MAG 117:

BASIRA

But at least Daisy’s coming. I mean, I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But, she’s solid. She’s a… a fixed point, and if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing, relative to her.

From MAG 178:

MARTIN

We’re here for you.

BASIRA

No. She was there for me.

So, “attachment to humanity” “support” and “security” are good things in a relationship, right? Their love for each other (whether you read it as completely platonic or not) seems genuine, and they put each other first. That should mean that their relationship is Good!

Wellllllll no. Sometimes, a relationship can feel good while also... trapping you in a harmful cycle, or stunting your growth as a person. Think: a friend who is charming and fun who you love to drink with--to the extent that, even when you’re trying to manage an alcohol addiction, you end up going into situations with them that trigger your urge to drink. Also think: a friend who keeps bringing you sugary food even after you’ve been diagnosed with serious diabetes with potential life-altering complications--because you like donuts, they used to make you so happy.

Daisy and Basira are that to each other. In particular--Basira’s attachment to Daisy draws Basira back into dangerous situations and, by extension, causes her fall deep into that “siege mentality” that shuts down Basira’s more thoughtful side. 

When Jon confronts Basira about Daisy’s crimes in MAG 178, this exchange occurs.

MARTIN

[Loudly] Enough. Enough! Someone has died! Show some respect. Or don’t you care?

BASIRA

[Incensed] Of course I fucking care!

…

[Quieter] That’s the problem.

MARTIN

I… I don’t understand.

BASIRA

I just… I don’t need him laying everything out for me like I’m some kind of idiot. I know, all right.

I don’t think Basira is making anything up here to make herself seem better. Basira already knew there was a problem with the police, before Jon confronted her. She already knew Daisy was corrupt to some extent, even if she had trouble facing it head on. And--she already cared.

That’s why she quit. She didn’t need a revelation from Jon or anyone else to open her eyes. She didn’t even need to see harm happen to an innocent bystander. Instead, she saw how the higher ups were covering up the killing of Maxwell Raynor, of all people--

BASIRA

They’ve given us a few days ‘compassionate leave’. I think they just want us out of the way while they figure out the official version of what happened.

--and she quit after that. 

So, here we already have someone who is coming into an understanding of the police as a flawed system without anyone needing to tell her. Here we have someone who is already extricating herself from that system, because she cares about her impact on other people. From this point, she could easily have gone her own way, taken time to reflect and never hurt anyone again.

So what brings her back into the whole mess in MAG 88?

BASIRA

I’m looking for Daisy.

MARTIN

Oh for – Okay, I don’t know where she is! I don’t know where anybody is! Why does everyone… okay, why does everyone think that I always know where everyone is, all the time?!

BASIRA

Alright, okay, alright, sorry. They just… well, they said at the station that this was the last place she checked in.

--Her relationship with Daisy, of course!

She wants to leave the supernatural and the police behind. She tells Jon the Institute is bad (MAG 73) but she walks back in because she’s worried about Daisy. And then she throws herself right back in the fray to stop Daisy from killing Jon. Shortly after that, Basira has to sign herself off as a hostage to Elias…

ELIAS

She’s quite the killer, your partner. All in the public good, of course. And she was correct, I spent some time acquiring that evidence. Or creating it. And while your superiors don’t much care about the killings, the fact there is proof… They’re not happy. And they want you brought in.

--because of Daisy’s murders, Daisy’s reckless actions giving Elias leverage. Basira throws herself in with Daisy, and it draws Basira right back into a world of violence and the paranormal that she was trying to quit. It motivates her to, once again, cover for Daisy’s errors and justify them. This takes away any chance Basira could have had to gain distance from the violence, reflect, and get some perspective. Instead, she’s thrown right back into the siege. 

Basira doesn’t even show any sign of frustration with Daisy at this. It’s not that Basira is 100% meek. We see her get frustrated with people later, express grievances, and hold people accountable later--but with Daisy she doesn’t do any of this. Instead, she immediately re-affirms that she’s on Daisy’s side.

BASIRA

Daisy, it’s… it’s okay. We’ll figure something out.

Of course, it’s not a one-way street, either. It’s not an uncomplicated “Basira good, Daisy toxic and bad” story. It’s a mutually reinforcing cycle where they are both complicit. We see that in season 4, when Daisy tries to stop feeding the hunt.

People like to rag on Basira for her actions in this season but... her actions are actually also more complicated than a simple story of “Basira sabotages Daisy’s progress.” Because Basira misses the more resolute Daisy, yes, and wishes she had a strong protector instead of another person to help... but even with that, she’s still willing to support Daisy’s progress away from the Hunt!

In MAG 133:

ARCHIVIST

You’re not happy she’s back.

BASIRA

I didn’t say that, John. I will never abandon Daisy, and… having her back is… (she sighs) But right now she’s dead weight, and I need to be able to travel light.

Basira wants someone powerful to protect her, is conflicted that she doesn’t have that but still will never abandon Daisy regardless. And, true to her word, she does support what Daisy is doing.

From MAG 140:

BASIRA

We’ve talked about it. If the Hunt takes her again, we don’t know if she’s coming back. And neither of us want that.

In MAG 146, she even praises Daisy’s path of resistance.

BASIRA

You didn’t know what you were doing.

[Daisy makes a pained sound, as if to contradict her, but stops.]

BASIRA

And since you did, you’ve spent every waking hour resisting.

So, Basira is--true to Elias’s word--being Daisy’s anchor to humanity. True to her own word, she’s having Daisy’s back, supporting her decision to quit the hunt even if it means Basira has less back up. So what changes?

MAG 155:

BASIRA

Because I’m not going to lose her.

ARCHIVIST

She goes hunting again, you might anyway.

BASIRA

And if she doesn’t, she might die.

Even at this point, Basira’s worst impulses are always about Daisy. Even when she undercuts Daisy’s progress, it’s about Daisy’s wellbeing. All she wants to do is make sure Daisy’s alive and okay, and to that end she will throw out all of her rationality and moral principles.

And then, when Daisy does finally give into the hunt, it’s for Basira.

It’s... funny to analyze and critique this behavior, because I have seen this sort of behavior in Jon/Martin fics treated as a sweet and romantic thing. You know, the “I want you to keep being a monster because I don’t want to lose you!” thing. And also the “prioritizing each other over everything else in the world” thing. Because the concept of unconditional support, of putting another person first above everything else in the world--it’s an alluring one.

But with Daisy and Basira, even though their relationship isn’t necessarily romantic, we see how harmful that mindset can be. How someone can care for you, prioritize you, make you feel like the whole world, and... the main effect of that is to stunt you, to give you so much comfort you never get out of a harmful cycle or change your behavior at all. How it can cause you to enable horrible things in the world, like police brutality. 

That is the story of Daisy and Basira’s relationship. It’s about the effects of this cycle on Basira--yes, Basira specifically and not Daisy, even though the cycle is mutually reinforcing and affects them both.

Basira appears in nearly twice as many episodes as Daisy. Because of this, Basira is the one we see discussing the relationship and what it means to her. Basira is the one we see grappling with the psychological fallout of their relationship. It’s more Basira’s story than Daisy’s--not because she’s the “victim” or that she was morally pure but because... Basira is the one who ultimately grows past this.

After episode after episode of “she needs me” and “I can’t leave her” and “I can’t let her die”--after Basira endangering herself and stunting her own growth by centering Daisy

DAISY

Partner… Come…

[MORE FOOTSTEPS]

BASIRA

Not now. Not after everything.

--Basira finally breaks free, and moves on.

[softluci]

they’re cute

because of who i am as a person, i like to think that the brothers don't all hate each other and that they each take time to be, like, affectionate with each other, in their own ways. i think when there's no one around, they are very much cute with each other. this is just a set of headcanons for that because i just think the dynamic between each brother is neat ^_^ 

this got to be longer than i thought it’d be, so i’m gonna make separate posts; this one will be for lucifer, and as i complete the rest, i’ll link them here :]

(i) lucifer

he likes to be affectionate with mammon by embarrassing him because he would prefer to make it seem like he’s having fun at his brother’s expense (“expense”). he doesn’t know mammon caught onto this pattern centuries ago and is now pretending to be embarrassed. like how lions overreact when their cubs attack them. he will literally make up excuses to bother mammon in front of people. some days, he’ll make a fuss over mammon’s uniform and make a point of fixing it in the middle of rad, some days he suddenly doesn’t know why mammon’s hair is so “unkempt,” and he’ll be compelled to “fix it,” in front of their brothers, etc, etc. and because it’s canon that mammon is his favorite—not just that he thinks mammon is the cutest, but that mammon is legitimately his favorite and always has been—he’s the one lucifer is the most physically affectionate with, and he’s the only person who can (and always could) touch lucifer without resistance. 

levi doesn’t really get any physical affection, but that’s mainly because lucifer has a (correct) feeling that levi wouldn’t like it if he touched him. that’s okay though because lucifer l*ves his family and knows how to accommodate all of them. instead, he’ll get levi to talk to him about his interests, but in the most annoying, roundabout way. this is so the conversations last as long as possible. rather than being a normal person and saying something like, “what’s that new [form of media] you’ve been talking about? tell me about it,” he’ll be like, “what’s the big deal about this thing anyway? you’ve been talking about it nonstop, i don’t see why,” or “who are these characters you’re so obsessed with, they don’t seem special at all.” and it literally works every time. it works Every Time. this is in part because, unbeknownst to lucifer, levi knows that this is his only manner of having lengthy conversations with him, and lucifer just wants to hear him talk. the other part is that levi feels personally attacked and feels obligated to defend his interests. 

satan gets the exact same treatment as levi, more or less, except when lucifer challenges satan’s interests or knowledge of certain things, he can expect a full debate, rather than the lecture he would get from levi. satan only puts up with it because he knows good and well that this is how lucifer likes to spend time with him. you’ll never hear it from him, but he enjoys their debates a lot, albeit he hasn’t won one yet (they always end in a draw, after several hours of lucifer twisting statements and playing devil’s advocate because he knows satan is right, but he just wants to force him to prove it. like the time he spent two hours arguing that the notebook is a good movie, which would’ve been more fun if satan wasn’t literally about to rip his hair out by the end of it.)

for asmo, i think it’s canon that lucifer helps him get ready sometimes, but i also like to think that lucifer will take a day and ask asmo to help him go shopping for new clothes or skincare, even though he knows he doesn’t need it. he just knows asmo likes to help with that sort of thing, and he likes seeing asmo get so happy over being able to help him. he has so many extra ties, dress shirts, pants, colognes, that he hasn’t gotten to use/wear yet because he buys whatever asmo tells him to, and they do this more often than they should, even though it isn’t often at all. lucifer also knows that asmo likes to gossip and will tell lucifer about half of the rad population within a few hours. asmo has no idea that lucifer enjoys gossip also and as well and thinks the complexities of the all the drama are all incredibly amusing, albeit he hides it by saying he needs to know everything that goes on, which is true. interestingly enough, asmo’s knowledge of the devildom’s population is so extensive that, even though this was never his goal, lucifer has learned about a number of interesting things that dia would absolutely love to hear about. for example, did you know a handful of lords were planning on staging a coup a couple years back? it was never going to work, of course, but how dare they, you know? anyway, lucifer didn’t know until asmo mentioned something about one of his friends planning to stay in the human world for a century or two. it’s amazing, the things you can learn between clothing racks. 

beel is arguably the only person lucifer can spend time with in an honest manner. beel is a very easy person to be around, he’s the most honest out of his little brothers, he hardly ever teases lucifer—if it weren’t for mammon, beel would be his favorite. anyway, lucifer is not a renowned chef or baker like barbatos or luke, but he is still a force of nature whenever he’s in a kitchen, believe that🗣 he still has a host of recipes from the celestial realm just sitting in his brain, and what he Used to do was order/pick-up the ingredients and Then ask beel if he wanted to cook with him (so that they could start right away), until one fateful day when beel already had plans. lucifer was in Pieces. shattered. he had the ingredients set up in the kitchen and everything. anyway he asks first and then gets the ingredients now; it ruins the surprise, but it’s better than being fully heartbroken. while they’re cooking, in between making sure he doesn’t eat the ingredients, lucifer will ask how he’s doing, how his day/week is going, and they will have a regular degular conversation, which is literally all lucifer could want. he learns a lot about beel from these conversations, and while he never shows it, he’s surprised by what he learns each time. like, one time they were making dinner together and lucifer learned that most of the people on beel’s team have/had a crush on him. it made lucifer rethink every single interaction he’s ever seen between beel and his teammates. all of those times they smacked his ass during games…

belphie is, unsurprisingly, the most difficult person for lucifer to spend time with or be affectionate with, even though he really wouldn’t have to do a lot. however, it is very convenient that belphegor is asleep for, like, eighteen hours a day because lucifer will save his affection for when his youngest brother is asleep. if he sees belphie in a position that doesn’t look comfortable, or that just can’t be healthy, he’ll readjust him. if there’s a blanket nearby, he’ll put one over him, or if there are none, he’ll use his coat. he’ll sit near him while he sleeps and do some work, he’ll pet his head, he’ll watch him sleep for a little bit, and sometimes—albeit few and far in between—he’ll talk to him. in the softest voice you’ll ever hear, lucifer will talk about his day, all of the work he’d rather not do, what happened at the meals belphie missed. he’ll talk about how sorry he is about how things turned out, how sorry he is that he can’t do this when he’s awake, how he really, truly loves his youngest brother. what he doesn’t know, and will never know, is that belphie isn’t always asleep. 

[deaththesyd]

A Swim Worth The Bruises

Finally, after months of following others and loving their content, I am ready to make my first contribution to this site with my own fanwork! (This is my excuse for anything weird about the formatting of my post.) This isn't my first time posting fanfiction however! I have an AO3 account under the same username as well, that has a shakily outlined story which this fic is part of.

This is my first post of hopefully many, prompted by Kisame week 2021's day 1 challenge, "Come into the water and I'll show you". @kisameweek-2021

I also want to say this was inspired by a post headcannoning that Kisame could draw sharks to him passively, kinda like the Zodiac members in Fruits Basket.

Summary:

“I just wonder what you do out there for so long.”

The look on her face was simply too cute to deny her curiosity. It was probably a bad idea, but knowing her, she would definitely enjoy the experience. He debated on the idea for a short moment, which piqued her interest further. Her pleading look ended the mental debate. “Come into the water and I’ll show you.”

The summer heat was quickly becoming unbearable. The early morning hadn’t been too bad, as the trio had been mostly shaded by the trees, but as the day progressed and the terrain turned to deadened grass and rock, the sun's beams were becoming a little more than an annoyance. Normally, Kisame would just trudge on, even at the risk of heat exhaustion, he prided himself on his ability to endure. With his companions though, that wasn’t an option. Itachi had been getting worse. He tried to hide it, and to his credit, he had hidden his worsening condition for years, but as their mutual trust strengthened and the sickness became harder to stifle, Kisame had taken notice of the muffled coughs and squinting glances. Their traveling had always been leisurely, but unless they were on a mission that was expected to be finished quickly, Kisame insisted on breaks. The younger man was both determined and stubborn, and this meant that without Kisame’s interference, he would have dropped dead from overexertion several times over. At the moment, said man was keeping pace with the taller man's strides, but his ever weary face was dampened by sweat, and his breath was coming out slightly harshened by exhaustion.

Looking down at his other side, he could see that their third companion was too, sweaty and tired and determined not to show it. Breathing laboured, she clutched the straps of her backpack as she shuffled along. Her steps were loud and crunched as she dragged her feet, no doubt wearing out the soles of her shoes. Healthy as she may be, she wasn’t accustomed to the heat and it wore on her as it did the two shinobi. Both needed a break, yet were firmly set on pushing themselves till they were forced to stop. He knew that he would have to be the one to make an excuse for them to rest, but he was having a hard time spotting a reasonable spot to recover. That was until the wind changed direction and he caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

The reason he hadn’t realized how close they were was because of the sloping, rocky cliffs that hid it from their view. As they drew nearer to the tall rocks Kisame could make out a seagull call and grinned. Itachi must have realized where they were as well, as he perked up slightly and gave the other man an approving look from the side of his eye. Both men changed their direction slightly and headed towards what they hoped would be a suitable rest stop. Turning to check on the woman following at his side, she appeared to not have noticed anything, focussed on her own thoughts. She only clued in when they were close enough to hear the waves lapping at the coast, that was when her eyes lit up with excitement. She looked first at Kisame, who gave her a sharp-toothed grin, then at Itachi, who simply gave a curt nod. Childlike glee had her tired feet bouncing along once again.

Climbing the rocky slopes was challenging, but when all three had clamored to the top, they were rewarded with the uninhibited breeze, and the sight of sparkling water reaching as far as the horizon. The sight was beautiful of course, but the promise of salty, cooling water had them quickly making their way down to the beach. The current position of the sun gave them a nice shaded area at the base of the cliffs to settle their things. Itachi unzipped his long Akatsuki cloak and used it to sit upon, leaning against the cold rock. Kisame’s cloak was laid on the sand next to Itachi’s, as well as his sword, Samehada, and the rest of his supplies. While he kicked off his shoes, his cloak was stolen by the third of their group as she lazily flopped to rest in the shade. Her wriggling attempts to find a comfortable position caused a muffled chuckle from Kisame as he tugged his shirt over his head. Finally finding a suitable arrangement lying on her stomach, arms crossed in front to cushion her head, legs splayed awkwardly, she turned to say something but seemed to lose track of what that thing may have been when she glanced at the expanse of muscle above her.

Her ogling was very clear, Kisame smirked, “You see something you like?” he asked.

Partially hidden by her arms was an impressed grin, and her eyes stayed right where they were as she simply replied, “Duh”. The complete lack of shame made him laugh as he decided to indulge her by giving a few flexing poses, to her absolute delight. Itachi, who was quite used to their casual flirting, ignored them and closed his eyes for a chance at a light nap.

Shuffling out of his pants and stooping to fold them with his shirt and lay them on a rock to keep them from getting sandy, he was watched unabashedly by the woman. He was used to this by now, she had never been the type to hide her attraction to him. Instead of her staring making him uncomfortable, it gave his ego a boost, made him feel as attractive as she told him he was. “Tell me how the water is when you get back,” she said, a little more quietly than her normal volume, trying to be more considerate of Itachi’s attempt at getting some shut-eye.

Raising a brow, Kisame looked at her, “You could come along and find out for yourself” he tempted, following her lead in lowering his voice slightly.

In a less objectifying way, she glanced down at his underwear and gave a light laugh, “I don’t know if I feel comfortable swimming in my underwear” she answered.

This made Kisame chuckle, “It’s not as though it’s something I haven’t seen before,” he argued. He glanced at Itachi and added, “and Itachi’s a gentleman, he wouldn’t dare to make a woman uncomfortable by gawking at her in a state of undress.” Itachi didn’t react other than continuing to ignore their chatter, but this was the clearest sign showing that he had no particular desire to ‘gawk’ as Kisame had mentioned. He glared humorously at her, “Unlike someone else I know.” She giggled but looked as though she was considering his offer, before settling her head down in her arms properly.

“Too tired to swim,” she mumbled into her arms, “Later.” She finished.

That was good enough for Kisame, the lapping of the waves against the shore finally drew him away from the shade and his tired companions. The scorching heat had been forgotten as he undressed in the shade, but the short distance to the water had reminded him why he had so badly wanted to reach the cool ocean before. Splashing water sprayed his ankles as he took a testing step into the clear water. The feeling was already refreshing, but as he waded further in, eventually reaching waist-deep before diving under completely, he felt the familiar calm of the ocean, of what he truly considered home. Opening his eyes he could see the sandy, seaweed-covered ground better than most with his specially developed eyes. Tiny fish swam away from his kicking legs and powerful arms, yet more kept swimming closer, curious as they were. His lung capacity was greater than most, but gills served as nothing more than decoration, and he was forced to come up for air after a few minutes of swimming along the seafloor. Breaking the surface, he let himself float on the gentle waves, basking in the sun for a short while, before taking a breath and submerging himself again. After all the time on land, he had begun to miss the weightlessness of the ocean. Sometimes he wished he was fully adapted for the salty sea waters, he felt as if he was a mistake on land, a fish out of water.

It seemed as though the body of water felt the same, as he spotted a black-tipped dorsal fin jutting out of the waves, heading directly for him. Kisame grinned a toothy grin, it had always been something of an uncontrollable talent for him to compel nearby sharks to gather around him. The reef shark wasn’t shy, it brushed against him, curiously drawn to his presence. Kisame carefully ran a hand along the length of its back as it moved past. It playfully flicked its tail, hitting him with a strength he would always admire. It circled him, enjoying the attention, bumping harshly into him. It appeared to be the bravest of its peers, as a few more gathered around him, their rowdiness didn’t make him nervous, instead, he enjoyed their rough company. The heat of the sun on his face and shoulders pushed him to once again dive into the deep blue. His new companions swam around him, curiously following as he dove deeper, giving him enough space to maneuver freely. Once he could seat himself on the sandy floor, he casually performed the signs for a basic water jutsu, creating a small whirlpool that caught the playful sharks and sent them spiraling quickly to the surface. Once the jutsu was released, they swam back, excitedly nudging him as they swarmed, the equivalent of a group of children surrounding an adult asking them “to do that again!”, and he indulged. When the pain in his chest was too much to ignore, he breached the surface of the waves to gulp greedy breaths of air.

By now his only company was not simply the blacktips, but they had been joined by a bulky and brutish bull shark that preferred to simply swim close, avoiding Kisame’s jetstreams and whirlpools. Lurking nearby in the slightly murky distance were a few hammerheads that were still hesitant to get too close. He wasn’t quite sure how long he had been out in the deep, so he gave the bull a firm palm to the nose as a farewell and began the short distance back to shore. As much as Kisame yearned to belong fully to the sea, he couldn’t swim forever, and his companions waiting ashore wouldn’t be leaving without him.

Closer to the beach he could spot her walking in the shallows, still fully clothed, just cooling her legs. The sun wasn’t as high as before, and he was sure it had cooled down some by now, but standing in direct heat was most likely to still be less preferable than the shade. He wondered if she was waiting for his return. The beaming smile on her face when she noticed his approach made it clear that was exactly what she was doing, and Kisame couldn’t help but grin back in earnest. She waded further in, stepping carefully, avoiding the mushy seaweed and pointed stones till she was deep enough for the water to just miss the bottom of her shorts. He bridged the gap between them, getting close enough to speak without shouting. “Was napping with Itachi too boring for ya? Or did you just miss me?” he teased.

She gave a soft laugh, “Itachi’s not boring” she insisted. “I was just a little worried about you”.

Had he really been gone that long? Covering up the fact that he was flustered by her care for him, he reached a dripping hand to ruffle her hair in a teasing gesture, which she annoyedly huffed at, batting his hand away before running her own hands through to organize the dampened strands. “Worried about lil’ ol me?” he joked, “Did you think I was gobbled up by a giant sea monster? I thought you knew I was big and strong.” His forced grin returned to a normal one when she rolled her eyes at him.

“Of course not!” she replied exasperatedly, and then a bit more curiously, “I just wonder what you do out there for so long.”

The look on her face was simply too cute to deny her curiosity. It was probably a bad idea, but knowing her, she would definitely enjoy the experience. He debated on the idea for a short moment, which piqued her interest further. Her pleading look ended the mental debate. “Come into the water and I’ll show you.”

“But I’m already in the water” she teased, gesturing at the gentle rolls of the tide around her legs.

He rolled his eyes, unamused. “You don’t trust me?” he baited, and of course she took it.

“Of course I do!” She said frustratedly, followed by a dramatic sigh, “Just give me a moment to save my clothes, jeez I was just kidding.” Her obvious sincerity was just so refreshing to him, he couldn’t help but pick on her sometimes. Even when she was upset with him, she always made sure he knew how much she cared. He followed her, not even trying to hide the gloating grin he wore when she pouted over her shoulder at him.

The sun had shifted enough that the spot they had chosen before was now in direct sunlight instead of the shade, and Itachi had either never fallen asleep, or had awoken to the uncomfortable heat and had retreated further into the shadows to read instead. Despite what Kisame had said to her before about Itachi not looking at her undressing, he couldn’t help but keep watch on his young partner. Sure, he knew Itachi quite well, but for her comfort, and, admittedly, his own, he felt a bit protective. Folding her clothes and placing them next to Kisame’s on the now Sun-bathed rock. Faking confidence, she walked beside him, heading towards the water. Her body language was stiff, but she seemed determined to ignore how she flushed slightly at her inappropriate swim attire.

Reaching the water and wading far enough to conceal her form made her noticeably more relaxed. “So, what was soooo incredible that forced me to strip for you?” she joked, reminding him just why they were there.

Grinning down at her, he fell backward into the water and swam away facing her still, deciding a verbal response was not quite needed just yet. She huffed, but her curiosity made her follow his lead, swimming towards him, not quite managing to bite back the smile playing on her lips. They swam mostly in silence for a short while before he decided they had gone far enough from shore. She was attempting to hide how tired she was, but he knew that even with her determination she wouldn’t be able to keep above water for much longer. Reaching for her he arranged her comfortably in one arm, laughing off her protests. “Don’t worry about it Guppy, I don’t mind swimming for the both of us”, he assured before adding in a more serious tone, “and the water’s about to get a bit rougher than you can manage anyway”. This made her pout fade away into a more curious expression. She didn’t seem scared, but he felt her grip on his arm tighten in preparation for what was coming.

It took a moment, but when a bulky head brushed against his legs he heard her gasp. He felt worried then, that this had been a mistake, that she would freak out, but when he looked at her face, her look of wonder erased his doubts. Another shark bumped into them as it passed, a bit rougher than the last, but this just made her chuckle breathily as she watched it fade away into the deep. These blacktips were still young, only a few feet long, smaller than the ones from before, but as they started to get rougher as they grew more excited, Kisame gave them a few firm pushes on their snouts as a deterrent, but this only worked for a short while, as they once again circled the pair, brushing past them. Kisame felt one of her hands leave him to reach into the water to brush gently against them, careful to keep her hands clear of any teeth. Just as she would with a cat or a dog, she cooed as she ran her hand along the length of their backs, and giggled when one got too excited and snapped at the tail of another. Cute as it was to her, it was a sign to Kisame that he should put some distance between them and her before they got too nippy.

“I’m gonna need my hand back, so you might wanna hang on” he warned before letting go of her to flash a few hand signs that caused a pulse of water to flush the swarming reef sharks away. With the space he gave them, she adjusted her hold, while he readied himself for another jutsu. Like before, he formed a small whirlpool and sent it towards the sharks, sending them whizzing around in a flurry of current. Beside him his companion was in complete awe, watching the sharks regain their bearings as the jutsu faded. Confidently grinning, he completed the signs for another jutsu, this time, it was a geyser that sent the sharks up a couple of feet above the water, giving his companion a good look at the creatures she adored before they dove safely back down. He expected the starstruck look on her face, but he hadn’t expected it to be directed at him. He could feel his face flush as he performed his next jutsu.

-

They left when a couple of bigger sharks joined them, she looked disappointed, but she didn’t protest, something Kisame was thankful for. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and they still had some traveling to do before they could set up camp. Maybe some other time he could let her meet a white shark. When they reached the sandy shore and walked towards their clothes, he knew he had made the correct decision. It was easy for her to forget how tired she was when she was watching fish fly, but he could tell their swim had tired her out again. Still, she was uncontrollably grinning like a child, and her earlier embarrassment over her state of dress was forgotten as she asked “How do you do that? Do you summon them or something? That was so cool!”

Taking a subtle glance at Itachi, who was still reading in his spot in the shade, he passed her her clothes. “No, I didn’t summon them, although I can summon sharks. I’m not really sure if this is true for all in the Hoshigaki clan, but all of my family members have been able to draw sharks to them passively without summoning” he answered. She seemed fascinated as she stared up at him.

While struggling to put her clothes over top of her wet underwear and damp skin she continued “Does it work with all sharks? Are they always that friendly?” She hesitated before adding, “Has one ever hurt you?” She asked the last part concernedly.

“No, not really,” he assured, “I've had a few nips from some smaller ones, and a few bruises from the bigger ones, but they've never been aggressive towards me”. The look of relief that came across her face made him unconsciously relax as well.

“I’m glad they're friendly, even though they're a little rough when they play. It would probably be a problem whenever you went to the beach otherwise” she laughed. “Though,” she paused to consider a thought, “I guess if you drew them too close to a public beach you could easily terrorize the public by accident.”

The idea of him even going to a public beach was laughable to him, but the idea of him drawing a group of sharks to the shallows of a crowded beach was a dream he was now tempted to make a reality. He chuckled “Never thought of that, but I think that's a pretty quick way to get myself a private beach.”

Giggling and fixing her hair as best as she could, she waited as Kisame finished redressing before they gathered their belongings and joined Itachi. Without sparing them a glance he bookmarked his page and slipped the novel back into his pack. Kisame noted how far along in the story the younger man was and decided to make a bookshop one of their next stops. Adjusting his cloak, Itachi stood and acknowledged their presence, “Did you enjoy your swim with the sharks?” He asked, queuing the excited retelling of her experience. As they made their way over the rocky cliffs back to the road, she gushed about how cute the sharks had been, drawing a rare, faint smile on Itachi’s lips, something that Kisame after years of being around the man still wasn’t used to seeing. All three of them were still tired from their travels, but their short beach stop had reinvigorated their mood, and their comfortable chatter kept them entertained till they set up their camp and turned in for the night.

[some-dr-writings]

Izuru, Gundham, and Kazuichi comfort their S/O after they break their arm

Izuru Kamakura:

·       “Just-” “No.” “It’ll only be a sec-” “No.” “Izuru.” You almost flopped onto the couch in frustration but Izuru deftly caught you. “You were going to crush your arm. “I… yeah…” Instead with a huff you sat on the couch. “but this sucks!” “You’re the one who told me to keep you from further injuring yourself.” “I know.” “And I did warn you to take caution when climbing the ladder.” “I know.” He pat you on the head once before exiting the room.

·       Once in the kitchen he tied back his hair before setting about cooking, which took a few minutes trying to hold back all those locks. When he finally set about cooking his mind wandered, seeing you flipping a pencil between your fingers. “No drawing.” “I’m not! I swear!” “Just reminding you.” You were so reckless for your art. You’d do just about anything to get the perfect angel for your landscape pictures. There had been multiple occasions where Izuru acted as your assistant, holding on to a rope, dangling you over a bridge or cliff as you hung from the end, drawing, not caring about the danger till some wind flew past, swinging you about, no longer in the perfect position. Your language became rather colorful in moments like that. Most everything was boring to Izuru, but you managed to capture his interest, mostly due to how you always dragged him around, forcing him into your antics. In all those times not once could he ever recall you asking him to look out for your safety, only now. You actually asked him to keep you from further injuring your arm so you could get back to your art.

·       Strange as it was, he found it… endearing. “Breakfast is ready.” Taking the sketchpad and pen from you he placed it aside, linking one of his arms with your uninjured one, leading you to the dinning room. “No.” “But-” “You asked for this.” With a sigh you began to eat, soon your mood lifting, humming in delight at those delectable treats.

·       With how chaotic your world was, being in this this kind of domestic setting, seeing you just… being here with him, it was somehow exciting.

·       Perhaps he could convince you to let him take care of you like this even after you heal. This was nice.

   Gundham Tanaka:

·       “My Emperor! You have need of fear no longer for I, the Overlord of Ice, Gundham Tanaka, shall heal thy wounds and lift the curse that plagues and warps your body!” Gundham was rather insistent on being by your side at all times. Having taken care of many creatures, he knew how to heal many kinds of injuries and he wanted to put that knowledge to good use for you.

·       With a light blush he’d do almost anything you ask, saying he’d act as your servant, making sure you didn’t lift a finger. Even if you were uncomfortable with this he’d still do it to an extent, making sure you didn’t place any strain on our arm, any off-hand remark you made about getting something or other such things similar in nature he’d take as a commend and lend his assistance.

·       “Gundham, you really don’t have too.” “Nonsense, it is my pleasure.” You sighed as you stepped aside, letting Gundham lean against the counter, reaching up to get that just out of reach mug. “My love, I appreciate all you’re doing for me, but it’s okay, I can still do things on my own.” “I realize that, I would never fall for one who could not.” With a light clink sound, he placed the mug on the counter. “Then why?” He looked to you for what seemed to be an oddly prolonged moment. “I…” He took a step towards you, his gaze shifting to your broken arm. “You are strong, you need help not, yet… I am still compelled. You are my soul’s mate, not matter how small or insignificant, I wish to alleviate your pain. Showing weakness often leads to death, the weak are prayed upon, especially so when it’s one of great power, others wishing to protect themselves by eliminating the greatest threat. We are much too powerful to be taken down in such a manner, but…” He looked you in the eyes, his sharp features seeming to soften. “You may show weakness with me. I suppose… I simply wish for you to know that. Know you can rely on me, even in simple times such as these.”

·       You smiled, taking a step closer closing the distance between the two of you. “You’re so sweet, you know that?” “Sw-SWEET!?” His entire face flushed a light pink as he pulled that scarf up over his face, looking away. His blush only darkened seeing how gentle your expression was, clearly too pleased seeing him so flustered. He much preferred showing his affection for you through action, but how you just so gently compliment him was always too much… even if he did absolutely adore it.

   Kazuichi Soda:

·       “You’re okay, right? How bad is it? What did the doctor say? How long will you have that cast on?” Initially, he was a bit panicked. He needed to know you were alright. He’d soon calm down though and generally act like nothing was different, just the occasional question about how you were feeling or if he could help with something, but not much else. Not being sure what he could do to help you, he simply just wanted to make things as normal as possible since he was sure you had enough things to worry about.

·       The incident did get him thinking though, what if something worse happened? What if you had lost your arm? No matter how much he’d try to act like nothing had changed, you’d still be hurt. How could he help you then? Try to cheer you up maybe, but would taking you on fun dates or riding on one of his motorbikes be enough? He doubted it. So… what could he do?

·       “Hey, Y/N! Come be my assistant, please.” “Huh, uh, sure?” You passed Soda tools as he tinkered away, working on something rather small. “What is that anyway? A new part for one of your bikes?” “A robot arm!” “A… a what?” He grinned that sharp toothed grin, determination flaring in his eyes as he explained away. “A cool robot arm just for you! That way, you’ll have nothing to worry about! Though it’s still a work in progress, and I’m still not sure how I’ll make it, I’ll find a way!” You lightly chuckled, leaning closer to him. “Silly, it’s only two weeks. I’m sure I’ll be fine till then but thank you.” You gently kissed his cheek, giggling as you pulled away seeing how Kazuichi’s eyes sparked in delight. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close and nuzzled his face into the nape of your neck. “I know, I know, but… You deserve the best in life, and I’m going to be the one to give it to you!” “But I already have the best. You’re so silly.” “Huh?” You hugged him, caressing his cheek as you kissed his forehead. “I have you.” He melted under your touch, holding you closer. “Then… want to take a break, cuddle on the couch and watch a movie?” “That sounds lovely, but anything with you is great. You can keep working.” Hugging you close he kept working, happy knowing this was indeed enough for you.

[haledamage]

Silent fury for whoever you want :3

(Jester Sending voice) GUESS WHO IT IS~

it's Nadia/Kurt again 😅 shocking, I know. I let them actively flirt this time! though they still aren't in a relationship yet...

spoilers for Kurt's 3rd companion quest and the story stuff that precedes it

---

“I’m going to get us some drinks,” Kurt announced as soon as they stepped into the Coin Tavern in San Matheus, eyeing the evening crowd suspiciously. “You think you can stay out of trouble until I get back?”

“No promises,” Nadia said with an impish grin.

He glowered at her. She winked in response.

He walked away with a shake of his head, and she found them an open table in a corner, sliding into a chair that left her back to the wall and let her see most of the room. She saved Kurt his preferred seat, the one directly in the corner that would best let him see the door.

Trouble inevitably found her only minutes later, in the form of a young Guardsman wearing the regalia of the Red Sun regiment. He saluted her nervously, looking over his shoulder at the tavern’s crowd before asking, “Are you the Legate de Sardet?”

“I am.” She gave him her most charming smile, trying not to look like the last thing she wanted right now was to work. “Do you need something?”

Without any more preamble, the soldier pulled a knife and lunged at her. She dove backwards to avoid it, knocking her chair over with a clatter. When he swung at her again, she caught his wrist, using his momentum to twist his arm behind his back and slam him face first into the table.

The knife slipped out of his numb fingers and Nadia grabbed it before it could fall, pressing it to his throat. “Is this the fabled honor of the Coin Guard?” she hissed, any hint of kindness in her voice frozen over. “Attacking an unarmed woman in a bar?”

His eyes were very green and very wide as panic and the realization that he lost started to set in. “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! I was only following orders.”

She inspected the boy’s face. He was quite young to be sent after someone of Nadia’s reputation; if he was over sixteen, she’d eat her hat. He was also clearly terrified, but it didn’t seem to be her he was afraid of--at least, not entirely. Though the knife she held likely made a compelling argument in her favor. “Who sent you?”

“They said that you’re responsible for the fall of the Guard,” he blurted out. “They’ve given orders to attack on sight.”

Even with her compelling argument at his throat he still wasn't telling her any names. That meant one of two things: either he didn't know their names, or he was blindly obedient to the point of suicide. A remnant of the ghost company, she’d wager; if she was wrong, she’d eat her gloves too.

She seethed in silent fury at the people responsible. The ones that had taken children like this one, like Wilhelm and Reiner and even Kurt, once upon a time, and tried to turn them into puppets and monsters.

Nadia pushed it away, swallowing it down until it wouldn’t show. He would take her reaction for pity rather than sympathy; they always did. She bottled it up so she could turn it into action later, when she finally met the infamous Major Hermann.

She let the boy go, but stood in a way that he wouldn’t be able to run without going through her. “Hmm. I did it all on my own, did I? Not much of a coup if it could be foiled by one woman acting alone. But I suppose they know better than to send you directly after Kurt, or Sieglinde, or Manfred, or any of the other honorable members of the Guard, and so they sent you to me.” She felt a presence at her back, solid and warm and familiar enough that she knew who it was without looking. “Hello, Kurt.”

Somehow, the boy’s eyes got wider. “Captain!” He fumbled an attempted salute.

“At ease, cadet.” Kurt almost sounded casual enough to hide his anger. “What’s this?”

“You know me,” Nadia said, false cheer taking the edge off the lingering chill in her voice. “Making new friends wherever I go.”

“He tried to kill you, didn’t he?” She couldn’t see his face, but whatever was there was frightening enough that the cadet tried to step back, practically climbing onto the table in his haste to escape.

She hummed in affirmation, presenting him the knife. He took from her and inspected it wordlessly. “Likely on Hermann’s command. Or his lackeys. Lad doesn’t know any better. Just following orders.” She was starting to hate those three words. The things men would try to justify under the guise of ‘following orders’ enraged her.

“You’re damn lucky she was alone when you staged your little attempt. Her Excellency is much more polite than I.” Kurt grabbed the young soldier by the front of his doublet and dragged him close, voice dropping into a growl, low and dangerous. “You ever try to touch her again and you had better start swimming, because there’s nowhere on this island you can hide from me.” He released the boy abruptly enough that he stumbled. “Go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He ran out of the tavern without looking back.

Kurt immediately turned to Nadia, all his anger forgotten and replaced by a concerned frown. “Are you hurt?”

She tried not to appear too flustered, but her heart always skipped a beat when he got all growly and protective like that. There was something very attractive about watching him lose his cool on her behalf. His sudden proximity wasn’t helping matters, his hands gently skimming her sides, her stomach, down her arms, touching her face, searching for any sign of injury or distress.

She caught them and forced them still. They came to rest on her waist, and he finally looked up at her again. “I’m fine, Kurt. He didn’t even get close. You taught me better than that.”

His shoulders dropped with relief. “I should’ve known better than to leave you alone.”

“At least we know we’re in the right place.” She rested her hands on his arms, just above the elbow, in an attempt to offer comfort. She could only imagine how hard all of this was for him, especially on top of… well, everything else. It had been a rough week for them both. “If Hermann is sending terrified child assassins after me this quickly, he must be somewhere in the city.”

“I think you’re right.” His expression went distant, calculating, already planning two steps ahead. Then he shook it off, and his attention returned to her once more. “Be that as it may, Green Blood, I’m not leaving your side until he’s dealt with. Not for anything.”

Her eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing under the brim of her hat. “Then I guess it's a good thing my bed’s big enough for two.”

Kurt’s ears and the back of his neck flushed red at the obvious suggestion in her words, but at the same time his gray eyes went storm dark, dangerous in a new and exciting way. His hands clenched on her waist, drawing her just the slightest bit closer. "Yes, well..." he cleared his throat, but his voice still came out a touch raspier than normal, “we should… concentrate on the job at hand. For now.”

Despite his words, however, he made no move to release her, or even to put any distance between them.

It was tempting to see what happened if she pushed the subject, but Nadia decided against it. He was right. This was important, and it needed to be done before someone got hurt. For now would have to keep her warm until then.

Reluctantly, she stepped back, putting a little space between them, her hands slowly sliding down his arms until they fell away. She set aside the spark that had been kindling there in the same place she put her anger - not extinguished, just banked, and waiting for a chance to reignite.

With one last deep, fortifying breath, she turned her back on Kurt and picked up her fallen chair, dropping into it and sliding one of the mugs on the table closer. She hadn’t even noticed him setting them down, wasn’t entirely sure when he’d found time between threatening her would-be assassin and fretting over her well-being, but she let it go.

After a few seconds, he sat down next to her. His arm draped over the back of her chair in a motion that probably looked relaxed to anyone who wasn’t close enough to feel the tension rolling off of him. She leaned into it anyway, letting him pretend it was an affectionate gesture instead of a protective one, that he wasn’t scanning the room like everyone else had also been sent to assassinate her.

“So why are we here?” she attempted to clear the strained atmosphere. “Waiting for someone?”

“Letting ourselves be seen.” Kurt took a long drink from his ale. “I want him to know we’re here. Men like Hermann get stupid when they get scared.”

She was starting to catch up with his thinking. This tavern was owned by the Coin Guard. A once-respected and decorated Major like their quarry would still bend a few sympathetic ears in a place like this. Their presence here was an open taunt. "And do things like send children to kill diplomats in a bar full of witnesses? Especially a diplomat known to travel with a Captain of the Guard as her personal bodyguard?"

He grunted in agreement. “Exactly. He sent that poor boy here to be killed. To make us draw first blood. Now he’ll run straight back to his masters and tell them what happened.” His voice was as dark and bitter as smoke, but when he turned to face Nadia, he wore a soft, if small, smile. He lifted his mug as if in a toast. “So tonight, I get to have a few drinks in a decent tavern with a beautiful woman. And tomorrow, the work begins.”

She tapped her cup against his. “You’re enjoying this. Scaring the ghosts.”

“So are you.”

“I did learn from the best.” She meant it. Nadia would have been a very different person without him in her life all these years; she liked to think he felt the same way.

But whether he did or not, he clearly still didn’t know how to take a compliment. “Flattery,” he said dryly, looking more amused than anything else. “And where do you expect that to get you, Your Excellency?”

“Most likely, alone in my large, very comfortable bed.”

Kurt chuckled, and the sound was like warm brandy on a cold day, sending heat curling through her. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

[strangertheory]

I notice you corrected that other anon on Will being a creator, instead calling him a host. I'm just curious why you did that, as I agree with anon. Will definitely seems to have the power to create. He creates physical worlds other people can enter, like the Upside Down. You might say he didn't create his alters, but it's not normal practice for alters to walk around independent of the host body. That definitely feels like an offshoot of Will's ability to create.

I'm aware I'm an outlier and that my thoughts on this are not shared by most fans, even fans that find the DID theory to be plausible. But at this point in time my current theory and meta for Stranger Things that you will see me most often discussing here on my blog is that all supernatural events are taking place exclusively within the mind, within internal worlds and distorted metaphorical memories, or within an as-yet unrevealed other meta narrative such as a story-within-a-story. (Or both. I do like the theory that Stranger Things is a story being written by Mike.)

These days I am most often discussing my ideas about Stranger Things within the hypothetical of many scenes in the series taking place in internal worlds or memories that are distorted metaphorically or being revisited in a unique as-yet-unrevealed way. I personally do not presume that alters are walking around in the external world except when they are fronting (or coconscious together) in the body, or when they are interacting with each other within internal worlds that exist in their shared mind.

Maybe the best way to describe my current meta and theory is to say: what if Stranger Things could be a true story? What if we spend a lot of time in internal worlds? What if the entire story is about the way the mind can compartmentalize and process trauma and memories in a way that is unique and "strange" and then additionally also about the recovery and healing and happiness that can be experienced by those who have been through terrible, traumatic things?

I know that kaypeace21, for example, has her own different interpretations and theories regarding the events of the series, and I enjoy reading her ideas and blogposts even when we might not agree entirely. We don't always share the same theoretical ideas and focuses. Our blogs and our thoughts are often very different. I have an appreciation and interest in the theory that psychics are real in the Stranger Things universe (like in X-Men) and that the alters were brought out of the mind and into the external world as well, and I appreciate it as a hypothetical, but at this point in time my emphasis and focus on my blog is on my theory that significant parts of the show are in fact taking place in the mind of characters and not in the external world in the way that we might currently be assuming.

Telling a story from the perspective from within a DID System and its internal worlds rather than as an outside observer is a very compelling concept to me. Yes, I know many see this theory as pushing things "too far." But I see it as an interesting hypothetical within which the concept of internal worlds and memories and the internal workings of a DID System can be explored in a way that I haven't seen done very often in other media.

But to return to the question of why I prefer to refer to Will as a host and not as a "creator" or "the creator..."

Host is a great term that is specific to the context of the theory that we were discussing in the other ask.

I do not mean to be pedantic but I am trying to be consistent with how I present information and terminology so that anyone less familiar with DID can repeatedly see these terms used in relevant contexts over and over again and recognize the connection that I am drawing between DID and the Stranger Things meta that I discuss.

The other anon had used the phrase "outside their roles as creator or gatekeeper" in their message. Creator is a general word that has many different meanings depending on context and that is not a formally defined role within a DID System in the way that the word "gatekeeper" holds specific purpose and meaning as a term. The term "host" is concise and specific and encompasses the complexity of the role because it is the term widely used to describe that role in DID and is generally understood and accepted. I wanted to keep the use of terminology consistent.

I also find it useful to discuss Will as a "host" because this is a term that has been used for Will within Stranger Things' canon itself and which also further reinforces the theory that I am trying to explore as a valid meta. Consistently discussing Will as a "host" helps point to a term that connects Stranger Things and DID in the same way that discussing El as a "gatekeeper" helps connect Stranger Things and DID ("The gate. I opened it.")

I believe that the more often we use words in conversation, the more familiar they become to us and the more their meaning becomes present in our minds. Because DID is such an unfamiliar (and often misunderstood) topic to the majority of people, rather than choosing to distance my language from specific terminology used to discuss DID, I choose to repeatedly use these terms (alter, host, gatekeeper, protector, persecutor, etc.) to reinforce their meaning within not only the context of this specific Stranger Things meta but also their meaning and significance within discussions of DID in general.

I worry that if I begin to use terms that are non-specific (such as "creator") when talking about the DID theory that I risk muddling what I actually mean and, worse, possibly muddling what I'm trying to explain to those in my blog's audience who are unfamiliar with DID.

When a word exists that represents what I mean to say and that can also hopefully encourage increased understanding and interest in something, why not use that optimal word so that people can get more comfortable with understanding it rather than reach for a different, less-accurate word that in the past has caused some readers of my blog to misunderstand what the word "host" means when I use it?

I hope everyone who feels differently takes this answer to this Ask in good faith and understands my intentions are not to suggest that anyone who chooses to use different words is "wrong." Not at all. This is entirely about my comfort with my words and my blog and the approach I try to take in discussing this theory when I myself am engaged with this topic.

And if you are a member of a system yourself and you are reading this blogpost but you like thinking of hosts within your system as "creators" I think that's awesome and valid and I hope that you understand that nothing I have said in this blogpost is intended to speak over who you are and how you understand and describe your system. I'm simply intentionally using the term "host" as its used within Stranger Things and as its used in the general context of discussion of alter roles within DID Systems in general.

Thanks for asking, Anon. In summary, please take my preference for the term "host" as being specific to my desire to use terminology consistently on my blog to avoid confusion when I'm referring to very specific conditions such as DID that exist in the real world, and to encourage people to understand what I mean when I say the word "host" in the context of this theory.

I didn't mean to imply that describing Will as a creator is necessarily wrong per se, but rather that when done within the context of referring to El as a gatekeeper and within the context of DID system rolea that the word for Will's role is host and it gave me a brief opportunity to remind anyone reading the blogpost that Will, within this meta and theory, is a host.

[dawnwave16]

Project Widow Soldier

When Marinette first joined her classmates at the age of 11 it was clear that she wasn't what they considered normal. Sure her clothes were fashionable, but there was just something about her that made them second guess themselves. As the days passed they put that unease out of their minds, after all, why should they be scared of someone who was so clumsy?

What they didn't know was they should have listened to those instincts. Marinette was not normal, not in the slightest. She had been genetically engineered by Hydra. Half her DNA came from the Winter Soldier, the other half came from the Black Widow. How they had access to Widow's DNA, Marinette didn't know. She had his colouring but her build was similar to that of the widow's. Not that she knew that. She had been 8 when she had first heard whispers of what Hydra wanted to do with her, the perfect weapon, they called her. One born in a lab from an unknown surrogate and taken straight to their version of the red room. She had been trained and had her skills honed since before she could walk. Languages were drilled into her skull until it became a reflex to speak in whatever language was spoken around her.

That was something they should have remembered when they spoke of the next step of her training, whipping out her class. Well trained she may be but she had her father's true nature. The nature the Winter Soldier possessed when he was still James Buchanan Barnes aka 'Bucky' of the Howling Commando's and Captain America's best friend. Her true nature was kind, caring and bubbly when she was allowed to be, and the mile-wide stubborn streak in her refused to let her trainers take that away from her. When she heard what they had planned for her, she made her own plans. Instead of just taking out her class, she took out the whole base, hacking their computers to delete any and all references of herself, then ran.

She hitched her way to an orphanage in France where she was soon adopted and finally given a name of her own. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It sounded so much better than Experiment Widow Soldier 1623. Despite having run away she kept up most of her training, firearms were done at night by breaking into gun shops and dismantling then reassembling them against a timer. Other weapons were done by training in a dojo every second night. Hand to hand was done the same way except that was practised by a man who would alternate between watching her and sparing with her. She was always extra careful when they sparred as she didn't want anyone to know her true strength. It was why she always acted so clumsy too, no-one ever thought that the clumsiest person in the room could kill you with their bare hands.

Whenever they had a gym class at school she would pretend to injure herself so that she wouldn't have to participate in them. The teachers and other students simply thought it was bad luck so they ignored it rather than make a fuss of it. She found the classes very easy but after getting herself put up a grade she hid her boredom and simply put in the minimum effort she needed to still get her stellar grades. That's not to say her new life was perfect. There were still those that tried to bully her, but she generally only acted upset to help Chloe feel like she was copying her mother properly. She also discovered that she didn't feel comfortable not having at least one weapon on her, yet normal clothes didn't sit properly when she had a weapon. So she started designing and, making her own clothes and to her surprise, she discovered that not only did she enjoy doing so but she was good at it! Soon she was making all her clothes, up to and including bra's when she started needing them.

Two years after she was adopted and started her normal school career, she met Ayla. Although she got along well with Ayla, she decided to wait a while before deciding if they would be true friends or not. When one of her classmates was turned to stone she thought about intervening but knew that if she did, she stood the chance of being recognised, so she went home only to find a box on her desk. After checking it for traps she opened it, met Tikki and found she could help without exposing her secret to the world. It was in Tikki she found, what she felt, her first true friend. She then met Chat Noir and had to admit, while he needed to work on his comedic timing, he was a decent partner, especially for someone who clearly had no prior training. It was only due to her upbringing that she remembered that she had to catch the butterfly before they started celebrating their win.

When she arrived at school the next day she saw a boy leaning over her seat, at first she thought he had put it there but upon hearing Chloe giggling she realised that it was Chloe that had put it there. Despite this, she knew she had to make a scene about the gum so she pretended to be angry and pretended not to know who he was when Ayla showed her his picture on her phone. It was then that the downside of her training kicked in, this boy, Adrian, was her partner! She groaned and mentally hit her head against a brick wall in frustration.

School continued in pretty much the same way as previous years until yet another new girl joined their class. As far as Marinette was concerned the new girl was lacking in every way. Her lies were easy to disprove, her fashion sense was abysmal and don't even get her started on the girl's hair! When Lila first started to spread her lies, Marinette didn't care. When she stole Adrian's book though Marinette got angry. Didn't she know what Adrian's father would do to him if Adrian lost it? So she followed them and took the book out of the trash, only for Tikki to identify it as a grimoire and insist it be taken to the guardian. Marinette knew Tikki was right but she also worried about what would happen to her Kitty if she didn't return it. So she scanned it into her tablet, made a copy for the guardian and returned the book to Mr Agreste herself, saying she had found it in the trash after seeing Lila throw it away. As she had filmed Lila when she followed them he simply thanked her and sent her away. He hadn't even asked why she followed them!

It made her very suspicious of Mr Agreste but she knew Adrian as Chat wasn't ready for that confrontation so she kept her silence. She took one of the copies to the guardian and started her training as the next guardian. School carried on and Lila came back with yet more stories, she even tried threatening Marinette but she just shrugged it off, she'd dealt with worse.

Three more years past in much the same way, Lila lied, Marinette got ignored and the class seemed to drop in intelligence every time Marinette checked. Tom and Sabine never fell for Lilas' lies no matter how much the girl tried so Marinette was content. Then came the day that Marinette finally slipped.

There had been a difficult Akuma in the early hours of the morning so Marinette was running late. In her haste, she forgot that that day was a “gym” day meaning she needed an injury lined up. It definitely didn't help that the news that the Avengers were in Paris and would be visiting her school had been circulating.

“They all love me and we all text each other regularly but when they here they will pretend they don't know me so that I'm not made a target.” Lila was saying as Marinette stumbled into the classroom, pretending to be out of breath. “I wish I could tell you when they'll be here but they want it to be a surprise.”

Marinette rolled her eyes then finally remembered that today was a gym day and groaned softly. She didn't even have a viable excuse to get out of it! 'Looks like I'll have to try fake not being good at whatever activity they come up with' she thought with a sigh.

As luck would have it the Avengers showed up just in time for her classes gym class. At first, she thought that this would be a good thing, the Avengers would talk to them about whatever and then they would go back to their normal classes. Except that's not what happened. Kim, being his typical self, made a bet with Alix that if anyone in their class would be able to pick up Thor's hammer it was him. This led to a lot of snickering at the innuendo but it also got the attention of Tony Stark aka Ironman so they all had to line up and try to lift it. None of them managed to and then it was her turn. She didn't think she'd be able to but knew she had to try anyway. To her surprise, she lifted it easily. She blanched then did the only thing she could think of, she dropped the hammer and bolted from the room. She didn't mean to run into Bucky but she did and when he caught her, he could feel the muscles she had kept hidden with slightly loose shirts. This wasn't good.

“Alright little lady, what has you in such a panic,” Bucky asked.

“I was able to lift that stupid hammer so I panicked. I catch enough flack from my class that I didn't want to see their reactions.” Her voice came out against her will. Even though his question had been friendly enough, his voice had the same commanding tone in it that some of her instructors had had. He seemed to recognise that her answer hadn't been willingly given and studied her, his eyes showing that he was drawing the right conclusions about her training.

“You were trained. I accidentally used 'That Voice' and you had no option but to reply. Am I right?” His voice was filled with dawning understanding, however, he still kept that commanding tone in it so she felt compelled to answer.

“I managed to get away 5 years ago. I didn't think it would still work on me.” She replied miserably.

“5 years ago? That's when the Hydra base in Belgium blew up if I remember the reports I've recently been able to read correctly. Shield had found it hidden in a mountain under a monastery and three days before they went to attack it, it went up in flames. Was that you? If so, why, that would have been against all your training.” Bucky was still holding her arm so she couldn't escape. In a way, it felt like she was being grounded against her maelstrom of emotions through that contact.

“Look, can we not talk about this here? The last thing we need is for someone to hear this and start rumours about me. More rumours anyway,” her voice was very quiet at this stage.

Bucky thought for a moment then he answered. “We're staying on the fourth floor, I trust you can get in unseen?” He cocked an eyebrow as he said this, so she just nodded.

“What time?”

“22H00”

“I'll be there, though I would recommend having something that can do an express DNA analysis or I doubt anyone will believe me. I'm guessing I'll be talking to everyone?” Her tone was resigned as she said this. Bucky just nodded. “Alright, I'll see everyone tonight then.”

It seemed her run of bad luck was still going strong when an Akuma attack happened just after she had finished her supper and fighting it lasted for so long she only had 5 minutes to get to the meeting. She had 3 minutes before her transformation timed out so she decided to throw caution into the wind.

“Chat, I have to be somewhere ASAP, can I leave the comforting to you?” Chat hadn't had to use his power so he nodded and she swung away quickly. Landing on the correct balcony with a minute to spare, she stepped through to the surprise of everyone in the room and dropped her transformation. Tikki had known she was going to tell them anyway so she just smiled at her as she accepted a macaroon.

The avengers, who had all tensed up ready to fight as she dropped in, relaxed slightly before Thor's laughter boomed around the room.

“So that's why you were able to lift Mjolnir earlier! Well met young wielder of creation!”

She blushed but nodded. “Mind if I sit down? I'm a little tired.”

“Pull up a chair,” Tony said. Then he continued “Why'd you tell metal arm here to have a DNA tester ready?”

In answer, she simply held out her arm and when nobody moved she sighed. “Look, it would make it a lot easier for everyone to understand if they could see that what I'm about to say if they could see I'm not lying and that I have nothing to hide, at least not from anyone in this room.”

That got a reaction out of them. Bruce got up and drew the blood sample needed and ran it, only to let a strangled sound out when the results came in. Marinette giggled.

“Are you serious?!? This can't be right!” he spluttered.

“They accurate. You can check me for any hidden vials etc that could have messed with the results if you want but I promise they are true.” Marinette couldn't help but be amused.

“What's wrong big man?” Tony asked.

“The DNA results say she's Bucky and Natasha's kid but that's not possible!” Bruce's voice was filled with denial.

“WHAT?” Everyone in the room except Bruce and Marinette shouted.

“Read them yourself!” Bruce thrust the result sheet toward them.

“It's true. Oh my god, how?”

Tony was about to make a joke about two people having sex when Natasha shook her head.

“Before you start, Tony, I've never had sex with Bucky let alone been pregnant so it won't be the way you thinking.” She turned to Marinette and simply said: “Explain, now!”

Marinette sighed then leaned back and started to explain about Hydra's project Widow Soldier and how she got away. Halfway through her explanation, Tony had Friday start pulling all the records that he could and shared them with the rest of the Avengers. Friday was a little more thorough then Marinette expected him to be and had pulled up files regarding what was going on at Marinette's school too. Most specifically about Lila Rossi. The team was not pleased when they saw the videos with Lila lying about them and quite a few others.

As the team started to discuss how they would deal with Lila's lies about them, Natasha and Bucky walked over to Marinette.

“So, you're our daughter huh?” Marinette nodded with her eyes lowered thinking that they must either be angry or disappointed.

“Did the serums in us affect you in any way?” Natasha asked.

“I'm stronger, faster and more flexible than most, which helps with being Ladybug but is a pain as a civilian as I always have to hide it, even from my adopted parents. I'm immune to poisons and need very little sleep. Oh, and my eyes are better and my hearing is a little more acute. If anyone found out I was going to blame it on having an active X-gene but I know I don't actually have one.”

“At least you had a backup plan for it kiddo,” Bucky said ruffling her hair. She swatted his hand away.

“Up for a sparing session so that we can see where you at in term of training?” Natasha asked.

“Sure, just know I don't want to go into the hero business full time. I was hoping to be like Edna Mode in the Incredibles, you know? Design super suits for everyone, yet still, be awesome in my own right.” Bucky and Natasha chuckled.

“If's that's what you want sure, but we still going to double-check your level of training,” Bucky replied.

“Fair enough.” She hopped up and stripped off her jacket as they started sparring.

What no-one knew was that a certain Salt-water Crocodile had smelt his favourite teen and had escaped from the room he was in. He had a bad habit of doing that, mainly so that he could destroy and crocodile skin items Chloe had, as well as her shoes. Marinette and Natasha had been sparing for 10 minutes when Fang managed to track Marinette's scent down and break into the Avengers' room, causing them all to freak and reach for their weapons. Marinette and Natasha stopped their spar and Marinette stood with her hands on her hips, looking uncannily like a blue-eyed version of her mother.

“Really Fang? Must you resort to scaring everyone whenever you even think I'm nearby?” She didn't get an answer except for a slight rumble from Fang's chest almost like a purr. She sighed then walked over to her jacket to get her phone and dialled a number.

“Hey Uncle J, you wouldn't happen to be missing something would you?” She asked into the phone when her call connected. When she got an answer all she replied was “Room 416,” before hanging up and sitting down. Fang was instantly half on her lap demanding cuddles.

The team was startled, to say the least, but even more so when Jagged Stone burst into the room. He ignored them his eyes locking onto Fang and Marinette. “Little M! No wonder he decided to go for a walk!” He looked around, “Oh, were you in the middle of a design meeting? I'll catch up later then! We still on for you coming on tour with me for a month when school finishes? Excellent! See you later then!” And with that, he was gone again.

“Don't ask,” was all she said with a shake of her head and a small laugh “You'll get used to it.”

Seeing how similar the man was to Tony the team accepted that easily enough. Marinette looked at the clock and saw it was 2 o'clock. She sighed then looked back at everyone.

“Look do what you want about Lila but I don't want to know the plan beforehand. If I look smug, or if I don't look surprised she'll twist your actions to be the result of me manipulating her. I've got to get home and get some sleep as I have school in the morning, while I don't need a lot of sleep I still need some.” Having said that she called for her transformation and left.

School was as boring as ever the next day when the door slammed open and Tony stood there.

“Sorry not sorry for barging in Ms Incompitence,” he said to Mlle Bustier, “But there is something I need to say to this class. After we left yesterday and saw that Akuma attack we tried to get more information on them. Imagine our surprise when we saw a video on a blog we'd never heard of, a video that contained an interview with a girl we had never met or even seen until we spoke to this class yesterday. We decided to do what little miss tabloid reporter here should have done and did some fact-checking. Yes, there are some facts in what she said but 95% of what she said was total BS. We even called some of the celebs that were spoken about to make sure!” With that, he slammed a wad of paper down on the desk in front of Lila. “These are copies of the lawsuits you will be facing Ms Liar, your mother has copies of them too.” He turned to Ayla and dumped another slightly smaller wad in front of her. “This is your set, same story.” Finally, he turned to Mlle Bustier, “You will be hearing from the education board shortly.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked out.

Marinette sat back in her seat watching as the class slowly processed what had just happened. When Adrian looked at her she shook her head showing she had nothing to do with it. Realising she probably wouldn't learn anything new until Ms Mendeleiev came to teach them, she closed her eyes and thought about her summer. A month travelling with Jagged, the rest spent with the Avengers, who knew what would happen? Either way, she looked forward to the future, knowing she had two sets of parents that supported her and a whole family to meet. Who knows maybe she could even find someone she would be willing to date?

by popular request part 2

[lethendralis-paints]

Artist Meme

Was tagged to answer this set of interesting questions by @kourvo​

(original post is here: https://kourvo.tumblr.com/post/621355098110640128/artist-meme

Thank you so much for that!

Let’s see....

1) What is the character you've drawn the most (Can be original or fanart)

This precious boy. I can never get enough of him. One of the most compelling characters I have ever come across. Love everything about Fenris and can relate to him on so many levels!

2. What colour do you often use? 

Gray and brown are my faves. And all other colours have the same chance of appearing in my artwork :D

3. Any colour you are bad at using?

I don’t think so...I love them all, even the pinks and yellows people usually find hard to incorporate into a colour palette. Tell me in the comments if I’m wrong :)

4. When drawing people, where do you start? 

Funnily enough - either with the front of the hairline or with the left eyebrow. Don’t ask me, why - I don’t know myself.

5. What is a character only your eraser will love?

Hmmmm...any sort of villainous character. I can’t draw evil people convincingly. I’m a huge softy at heart.

6. Which of your works took the longest time? 

Big scale commission I did for @pikapeppa​, featuring all the Inquisition companions, along with Fenris, Rynne and Carver Hawke. That one took almost 3 weeks, due to its sheer scope and my relative lack of experience in such large works. Pika was extremely patient with me though, for that I am eternally thankful!

7. What techniques do you use when you want to improve in drawing? 

Classical art studies. Varying my technique, themes I choose and software I use. I try to experiment and go outside my comfort zone often.

8. What do you think of the art of the person who gave you this ask meme? 

I adore Lillymon’s technical skill, refined style and limited colours! She is a huge inspiration for me!

9. What art tools/media are you good with? 

DrawPile, Photoshop, graphite pencils and liners. That’s about it :)

10. Art tools/media you are bad at? 

Traditional paints. I have no formal artistic education and my lack of knowledge comes to the forefront whenever I have to paint on a real canvas. It’s so much trial and error, you can’t even imagine....

11. What do you think about your own art? 

Lately it’s one of the last few things that were bringing me joy. I hope I won’t lose the passion for it. Because at this point I’m not sure I’ll be able to find some occupation I will be genuinely interested in and good at it. I don’t know if me gravitating towards moody fantasy art speaks about my fear of facing reality. If so, idk what to do with that. I do hope to develop my skills and being able to support myself financially as an artist.

12. Do you consult references for your drawings? 

Yes. A lot of them. Anatomical atlases, schemes for both academic and manga art, photographs found online and taken on my own, copying colour palettes from classical art - anything goes. I think it’s essential to develop your technical skill.

13. What do you like about your art? 

Lately - consistency, both in terms of produced results and in sticking to the timelines I set to myself. I hope this lasts. I would also like to branch out to other themes and not confine myself to quirky fantasy characters, so I’m working on developing my own story behind the scenes (spoilers) :P

14. What habits do you have while drawing?

Only the bad ones, lol. Hunching forward in front of the screen, forgetting to eat, drink and letting my eyes rest. Tilting my head to the side instead of rotating the canvas....I’m an idiot XD

15. Are you good at drawing faces facing right? 

I think that’s the thing I’m good at!

16. How frequently do you draw? 

For the last 1,5 years - almost every day without fail, for good or ill.

17. What do you do when you have artist's block? 

Change occupation and work myself into a depressed state. I changed work places in the last few years a lot, working as an interior designer, draftsman, textile designer, a cook, a bartender to name a few.

18. What must you have when you draw? 

No commotion around me and a cup of some hot beverage.

19. Do you have a lot of stray lines (messy lineart)? 

In the starting stage of my work process - yes, like you wouldn’t believe! If it’s a personal doodle, I sometimes just leave in as am under layer and draw clean lines on top of that mess. It looks cool in a way.

20. What is drawing to you?

An essential part of what helped me to retain my sanity in the last year and a half. Hopefully a lasting profession that will help me pay bills and survive on my own, if my life falls apart entirely later.

21. Your art goal from now on? 

Broaden the themes I depict, improve my technical skill, work on personal creative project and not only fan arts. And most of all - not giving up on it this time.

22. Artists you've had influence from? 

To name a few: @kallielef​ @kourvo​ @shayafury​ @fairsparrow​ who I met here on Tumblr, and many others who I follow and zealously study their works for clues on how to improve my own work.

23. Artists you like? 

I am following them all either here or on Instagram, I also do my best to share their works on my side blog!

24. Which is easier to draw, humans or animals? 

It was animals earlier. But now that I started to diligently study human anatomy, I would say it evened out! I’m quite confident drawing humans/humanoids now!

25. Show us an old drawing 

My first digital drawing from 2010 when I first bought my tablet!

26. What is the charm-point of your art?

I ummm....I don’t really get the question? Is that like the the strongest suit of me as an artist? Intense expressions maybe? Idk. Let me know in the comments :D

27. What is the first thing you would draw if we're talking about fantasy? 

Broody warriors, he-he

28. Please draw your most beloved character:

Here’s a sneak-peek of me drawing him right now! :D

29. When thinking of characters is it mostly female? male? or androgynous/no sex? 

I usually gravitate towards depicting strong-willed, caring, passionate, brave, honest men and women.

30. What did you draw yesterday? 

Started cleaning up that sketch from the last question, actually!

31. What is the funnest part to draw? 

A circle. Mostly because you’d die laughing seeing my struggle to draw a believable one XD

32. What part of other people's drawings do you notice first? 

colours, mood, eyes, hands.

33. Regarding backgrounds, what is your method of making it easier to draw? 

pick your favourite textured brush, find a good reference for mood and colour scheme, zoom out, squint your eyes and start slapping colours like mad. You’d be amazed at how much you’ll be able to achieve in 30 minutes with this approach. Bare white background is the enemy - destroy it! >:)

34. What colour coordinations do you like? 

Gray or brown as a main colour and then deep, earthy, saturated colours to complement the main one. Pink and orange is the combination I strangely enjoy using lately too.

35. What character did you last draw? Fenris and Eris :)

36. Does your style change easily? 

I don’t think so. More like it’s evolving slowly into something more serious and deliberate.

37. What part of drawing do you pay most attention to? 

Facial expression, body movement, mood and light effects. Not so much the composition and framing, he he.

38. How do you feel about drawing adult art? 

Tbh, I don’t consider straight up porn to be ‘adult’ exactly. To me adult art means aiming towards serious topics, exploring complex emotions and ideas, being honest with your viewer. I did doodle a few more steamy sketches of my OTP just to see if I could, but it was definitely a tongue-in-cheek kind of a artwork that I don’t take seriously.

39. Do you like criticism from others? 

If it’s friendly and in done in private - I welcome it always.

40. How many people do you normally draw per artwork? 

1 or 2. Rarely more. Crowded battle scenes are definitely not my thing :D

This was fun! Tagging forward to @shayafury​ @schoute​ @stella-minerva​ @nug-juggler​ @kallielef​ and anyone else wishing to go through such a long questionnaire!

[mokutone]

sorry if this is random but i was just curious about your thoughts on sai? i know you have a lot of thoughts on yamato fhdjdlfn and his and yamato’s relationship always seemed so interesting and really underdeveloped :[ theyre both really similar but yamato was able to get out of ROOT before sai was, and i was just wondering if you had any thoughts on that/him to share. sorry if this is weird or out of the blue djshfkfj love your art!!

that's not weird at all!!! actually the day u sent this question in i had finalized the thumbnails (and started on the pencils!) for a comic wherein Yamato comments on how Sai is handling his transition out of ROOT differently than Yamato himself did! I don't want to lay all my thoughts on that out here, because I think i'm much more clumsy with textposts than with comics, but I appreciate the question and I will share some thoughts!

under a readmore tho bc. this got Long...comics force me to be concise but w/ a keyboard under my hands i just chatter

here's something I've been thinking abt! I think they had fundamentally different experiences in ROOT, and this is reflected in their attitudes towards Danzō, as well as the way they interact with the people outside of ROOT.

Sai seems to have no real loyalty to Danzō. He does what Danzō says because Danzō gives him his orders, when he practices his fake smile in front of Danzō, Danzō immediately tells him to cut that shit out. I don't think there's a lot of love lost there—when team Kakashi catches up to him in orochimaru's hideout, and they kind of confront him, and. also kind of. "give him the option" of abandoning his mission (and ROOT along with it) or. you know. facing shinobi consequences. he doesn't really seem to think much of it? honestly. i imagine he was probably a little more relieved than anything else. Add to that him remembering how he wanted to finish the drawing of his brother—

actually wait hang on thats another point I want to talk about. Sai was pitted against the person he was closest to in order to traumatize him into numbness! wack! I think that's kind of at the root (help.) of why I see him as a fundamentally angrier character than I see Yamato—and why I interpret some of his behavior not just as Not Knowing How People Work (although he does have trouble with this! it's a very different vibe. like. him trying to comfort Naruto and Naruto thinking Sai was coming onto him was an entirely different kind of situation) but as like. intentionally inflammatory sometimes...like. he's insulted the bodies of most of the people around him in one way or another, he knows it pisses them off, he does keep doing it. I think him Causing Problems On Purpose is sometimes just a way for him to try and experience catharsis for a fury he doesn't really know he's repressing. Like. idk. it's one thing to be forced to hurt yourself, that's deeply upsetting, disembodying, traumatizing, but it's another to be forced into a situation where you're to hurt somebody you love (regardless of the outcome) like. idk. its a kind of powerlessness that hits different at least ime, and frustration and resentment are extremely normal reactions to a situation like that. i think. a number of things could be appealing to him abt trying to get others to get angry at him—whether it's Him being the one to Cause another persons anger (which could confer a kind of. feeling of control) or him seeing himself reflected in their anger (like a "boy howdy i recognize this emotion. it's very clear. very understandable") or even seeing how they handle the anger. kishimoto definitely doesn't care nearly as much about Sai's anger. but i found the implication of it compelling as a kid, and I find it more compelling as an adult! anger can be an incredibly healing and protective force sometimes when dealing w/ trauma...and I wish kishimoto knew what he was writing about or that we got to see it explored more!!! ack!

yamato (as kinoe) had a wildly different experience when he was in ROOT.

we know he knew how to fight against sharingan, which. I think implies he was training in combat with Danzō, or that he worked closely with Danzō, or at the very least that Danzō used his sharingan on him. We also saw that (unlike Sai, who was rebuked for even fake-smiling) that Kinoe (at first) was not told to feel nothing, but instead instructed on how to feel by Danzō specifically. Like, mostly telling him to Feel Grateful etc, but I think him being told to experience specific feelings according to what Danzō thought was appropriate would lead to a different relationship with his emotions than Sai, who was told explicitly to repress them all at all times, and to not even attempt to preform them.

He also like. Thought. Highly. of Danzō, not just as a leader but as a person...it's kind of undeniable that Kinoe saw him as right, was willing to brand his own feelings and intuition wrong if it crossed Danzō's, openly sought Danzō's approval, when he fails his mission to secure Kakashi's eye, his reaction is. essentially immediately to return himself to Danzō to face whatever new dehumanization Danzō's got for him— even when Kakashi and Hiruzen drag him out of there he thanks Danzō for everything, and he seems genuine about it, despite. everything. He's more expressive than Sai for sure, He had like. a moment of anger, when he said that he wanted to be Tenzō, and Danzō denied him that basic self identification...but it's quickly squashed. Messy. Messy. I think. I think he has a little more trouble getting in touch w/ his anger than Sai bc of his emotional closeness to Danzō.

i think. because yamato knows that he was something more like Danzō's favorite, and that conveyed a vastly different experience than Sai's, he might feel a little complicated about being like "So...ROOT trauma, huh? Hell of a thing!" but. i also like to think that he's very quietly kind of trying to observe and support in a way which mostly allows Sai to figure himself out—I think when they are older they would probably talk about it more (also because then their tongue-seals will have finally disappeared. Thanks sasuke!), once Sai has close friends in the village and everything

Just a lot of like. "I have friendships down. I have teammates down, easily—but what am I to the old woman I buy my cabbages from. What degree of friendliness do I exhibit to her."

"I think...whatever you're comfortable with is fine. I know neither of us had particularly normal upbringings, but you don't have to execute every interaction perfectly for people to care about and respect you."

anyway god this is so long and soooo based in my own personal HCs. I hope there was something in here that was interesting to you!

[teawithkpop]

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 2

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 9.7k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, anal play (male receiving), praise kink, degradation, mentions of cross dressing, brief orgasm denial, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of birth control, dirty talk, pet play, cum play (kinda?), voyeurism, group sex, anal sex, pheww I think that’s it

this one is,,, twice as long as pt 1 eye-

anyways thank you for all the love for physcom! I’ll do my best to make this series ruin everyone’s lives hehehe  the best it can be! ^^ <3

-------

“...What are you two doing?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit-

Emergency sirens are all you can hear in your brain and sheer panic floods your veins, leaving you frozen with fear. You know you shut the door, you had to have shut it, right? Why the fuck wouldn’t you have shut the door?

Surely this is the end. You’ll be exposed and all the reasons that you gave Taehyung not to do the thing you just did come flooding back to you now, echoing in your head like ghosts and mocking you in your own voice. Contract terminated… stigmatized… left with nothing... shadow of disgrace...

“What does it look like?” Taehyung answers without hesitation, drawing you back into the present moment. One of his eyebrows lifts minutely, as if he’s only mildly irritated by the witness to your transgression. If he’s nervous, you can’t tell.

Jimin’s eyes narrow suspiciously at Taehyung’s sarcasm. “It looks like you were-”

“Our lovely PhysCom was just helping me get off.” Tae interrupts him, his tone implying the obvious.

It’s then that you realize, Jimin only saw what you two were doing, not the reason behind it, or what you were feeling... this lie might actually work.

“Then why were you just kissing her? Why wasn’t she touching you, or something?” Jimin is not so easily fooled, and he peers around to confirm that neither yours nor Tae’s genitals are exposed.

Taehyung gives a shrug. "Kissing is my new kink."  His eyes sparkle with the private joke, and he sends you a wink. “See you later, jagiya.” With that, he ruffles his hair back into place and heads out of the room, leaving you alone with a skeptical Jimin.

You're a little ticked that he left you to glue all the pieces of your cover story back into place, but you turn to Jimin regardless. "Sorry about that. Master Kim has been… experimenting,” you supply, trying to fill in any holes in the story, but sounding uncertain even to your own ears.

"I don't like that he calls you that." Jimin says, a frown on his lips as he stares after the direction Tae went.

You furrow your brows. "What?"

"Jagiya.” His gaze shifts back to you. “You know what that means, right?"

It’s rare for the boys use a word or phrase in their native language that you don’t understand. You don’t speak Korean, but the chip in your brain does. It’s hooked up to an audio-translation app in your ComGear, and automatically translates what you hear, so your brain perceives it in your native tongue.

Conversely, the chip also tracks your thoughts, so as you go to speak, it overrides the synapses in your Temporal Lobe and Korean comes out of your mouth instead. Such a device is considered standard among newly licensed PhysComs.

It didn’t used to be that way, and often PhysComs that were hired from foreign countries had no way to speak to their clients except through body language and learned commands. But the industry quickly realized that full communication is key to avoiding issues with consent, not to mention it's much more convenient, and so the best PhysCom networks provide their employees with proper translation equipment. Though there are still some smaller networks that can’t afford the technology and therefore, they usually only hire trainees who speak the same language as their potential clients.

On occasion, there will still be a word which has no exact equivalent in your language, such as hyung or jagiya, so the app doesn’t attempt to translate it. But usually you can pick up the gist of it through context, and Namjoon has been very helpful in providing you with articulate definitions before. You still remember the funny look on his face when you asked him about jagiya - the term of endearment Tae calls you.

"It's used between lovers, isn't it?” You ask, recalling Namjoon’s definition to be an approximation of darling or sweetheart. “Technically, I am his lover."

Jimin’s frown creases his brow. "Yeah, but you're a lover for all of us,” he says, a pout forming on his lips. “He shouldn't get to act like you're just his."

Normally you would tease him for sounding jealous, but his concern in this case is… founded, and another pang of guilt hits your gut. You don't know if you'll even be able to eat the dinner you made at this rate.

You try to change the subject. "Anyway, how can I help you, Master Park?"

"Oh, right.” His concern seems to melt away to embarrassment, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I sent you a message this morning. I don't know if you got it… then I messaged you about ten minutes ago, asking if we could… have a quick session."

Right. You haven’t looked at your ComGear since the incident with Taehyung, and you feel even guiltier. First you were lying to your client, and now you’ve accidentally ghosted him. Thankfully Jimin doesn’t hold a grudge, especially not with you. All he needs is a little personal attention and validation, and he’ll be purring.

Time to get back to work.

"Sorry, master.” You assume your persona and saunter over to him, running your hand up his arm. “I was so excited to hear from you, I forgot to reply,” you chuckle, your fingers dancing up his neck and combing through the hair at his nape. He visibly relaxes under your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you card through his silky locks.

“It’s okay…” he mumbles, shyly avoiding your gaze. Honestly, Jimin can be too cute for his own good. He and Taehyung are the same age, but they're like opposites in a way. They both exude the same level of charm, but one is effortlessly seductive while the other is effortlessly endearing. You have witnessed those roles reverse in them before, but no matter which way you look at it, they’re still two of the sexiest people on the planet.

“I did get your message this morning, master. Quite a scandalous outfit…" You click your tongue and raise a well groomed eyebrow at him. Jimin loves to be teased, and chastisement really puts him over the edge. “Why did a good boy like you send me such a naughty picture, hm?”

He looks away, a blush rising to his cheeks. "I was wondering if… if you could…"

You don’t try to finish his sentence for him, and lift one polished fingernail beneath his chin, coaxing him to look at you. "Yes?"

"If you could make me wear it?"

Oh. Another surprise. Jimin is a hell of a flirt on stage, and anyone would think he’s dominant in the bedroom, even just judging from how often he sticks out his tongue while dancing, or how he thrusts his hips to the encouraging screams of thousands. But that’s on the stage, when he’s in his element. By himself, in private, it’s a much different story. Jimin’s not exactly sure what he wants from you.

You had read up about all this in his file, and you’ve been working with Jimin to help him explore his sexuality in a way that’s comfortable for him. You’ve tried a myriad of things so far, and recently, he’s been enjoying more submissive pleasures. During your most recent session, he even asked you to penetrate him.

You had complied of course, but the experience seems to have inspired him to go further, to a kink you didn’t even know he had. Cross-dressing and the usual praise-filled humiliation? Oh, this will be fun.

“Chim?” Your tone is scandalized as you use the name he prefers when being submissive, and his cheeks turn scarlet. “You want to be dressed up in that outfit?”

He nods, turning his face to nuzzle his cheek into your hand. “Is... is that okay?”

Your heart melts, and you smile at him, brushing your thumb along his soft cheek. “Of course it’s okay, baby.”

He grins, his eyes turning to crescents, and you suddenly feel compelled to give him the entire world if he so desires.

You click your tongue once more and ruffle his hair affectionately. “We’ll have to order it first, okay? Then we can dress you up, Chim.”

“Okay,” he says, and you swear his smile could light up the night sky. “Until then… could you, uh… play with my butt again?”

You chuckle and nod. “Yes, I most definitely can. We still have some time before dinner.” You grab your ComGear, take his hand, and lead him out of the room, being sure to shut the door this time. “Come along, baby.”

As the two of you head off to his room, you’re almost able to forget the situation with Taehyung. That is, until you open your ComGear to pull up the picture of Jimin’s outfit and see all the missed messages from him.

I’m really sorry. My feelings got away from me. Please don’t ignore me, jagiya. I don’t want to lose you. Jagiya? I’m coming upstairs.

Shit. Feelings? A sinking feeling claws at your heart and you have to wonder just how serious Taehyung is about you. How deep do these feelings of his go?

“Everything okay?” Jimin’s voice clears your mind and you slide your ComGear back into its holster. His eyes are full of concern at your probably tense expression, and you have to push the guilt away again.

“Everything’s fine.” You aren’t sure that’s true, but maybe if you say it enough, it’ll manifest. Regardless, you don’t have time to worry about Taehyung right now. Your client needs you.

“Come on, baby boy. Let’s go make you feel good.”

-------

Jimin’s room always smells good, like fresh linen. You aren’t sure how that’s possible, when 80 percent of the time, the place is a mess. But you aren’t complaining. He keeps his bed made neatly, and that’s all that matters for your job.

"Take off your pants for me, Chim." Your voice is gentle as you start the scene and lock the door behind the both of you. Jimin wastes no time in following your orders, and strips his lower half down to his underwear. He’s about to take off his top too, but you stop him. “You should leave that on. It’s cute.”

He looks down at the oversized shirt, the long sleeves covering most of his hands, and the rest of the soft blue fabric hangs loosely around his torso. He smiles shyly and gets onto the bed, assuming position and laying on his back as he had for your previous sessions.

"What a good boy. Oh, look how hard you are already,” you purr, undoing the belt of your robe and slipping it off, leaving your body bare save for your utility belt. It feels good to put aside your worries and focus on work for a while.

Before you begin, you change a setting on your ComGear to let the other boys know you’re currently in a session. If you’re busy and they want to fuck, they have the option of joining in - if your current client allows it - scheduling you for directly after, or fucking one of the secondary PhysComs their company employs and keeps on call.

You’re their Primary Physcom. The secondaries are alternate fuck toys for when you’re unavailable, if you get sick, on your days off, while you’re sleeping, etc. For as long as you’ve worked for Bangtan, not once have they called a secondary PhysCom.

It does boost your pride a bit, but to be fair, you’re the only one who knows them so well.

Sure, they could go call another PhysCom to play with if they get super horny at three in the morning, but the secondaries are practically strangers to them. They’ve all expressed that they’d much rather wait, if it means they can get their hands on you instead of some random substitute, which is just the way you like it.

You’re their girl, and you know, better than anyone, how they like to fuck. Besides, if anything, them having to wait for you builds up the anticipation and makes them even hornier. In a way, you view their favoritism as job security. It’s only practical to stay in their good graces and develop trust and build connections with them.

You see the lust and excitement glittering in Jimin’s eyes as you climb onto the bed, facing him and sitting beside his legs. Your hand runs up along his inner thigh to tease him, and the bulge in his underwear grows a little more prominent.

“Now then. Have you been thinking about our last session, Chim?” You make your voice calm and soothing as your fingers skim up and down his thighs, giving an occasional squeeze to his soft skin. God, his thighs are thick… perfect for riding.

He nods. “Yes.”

You flick the thought away. He didn’t ask you to ride his thighs. Your fantasies are not relevant. “Good. And how do you feel about it? Did you like it when I played with your pretty little hole?” Your nails graze over his length, and he bites his lower lip. You like to do regular check-ins with your clients, in case they want to experiment, or something isn’t working for them. But with Jimin, everything so far has been an experiment, so you’ve been checking in more frequently. In a way, you’re kind of like a sexual therapist to all of them.

“Yes. I loved it,” he replies, gripping the sheets below him to avoid moving too much. “It felt so good.”

You hum in delight, happy that you two seem to have found a path to follow to pursue his pleasure. “Excellent. And if something doesn’t feel good, what do we say?”

“Calico.” Jimin murmurs, one sleeved hand coming up to cover his face. God, he’s a natural. His shyness is going to kill you. You set up safe words with all your clients, just in case. It shows your professionalism. You even have one, though you’ve never had to use it.

“Good boy. Always tell me how you’re feeling, okay?” You can feel his cock twitch at the praise, and you love being able to make him so happy.

He nods, a blush already rising to his cheeks. “Please touch me.”

How can you deny such a request? You hook your fingers in the waistband of his (no doubt very expensive) boxer briefs, peeling the fabric down his legs and off his body, to be discarded at the foot of the bed.

“Oh my…” You shift positions, spreading his legs apart and perching yourself between them. “What a pretty little cock. Look at that.” You would make a show of it even if it wasn’t pretty, but fuck, in this case, the praise is well deserved. Jimin’s cock is smooth and pink and perfect, just like his lips. Frankly, you think putting your mouth on either one would be just as pleasurable. The only fib about his cock would be the ‘little’ part - Jimin sports a fair five or six inches - but it’s all a part of the fantasy, for his benefit.

You hum to yourself as you snap on a pair of plastic gloves, as much for safety reasons as for his pleasure. Even though you all get checked frequently for any sort of sexual diseases and infections, you’re still having sex with multiple men every single day, and there are certain precautions one should take.

Hygiene is one of the many intricacies of your job and you follow your hygienic routine religiously. For anal and vaginal sex, PhysComs have various cleansers that can be inserted nightly to prevent anything nasty from taking root overnight. For Oral sex, there are specialized mouth washes that can be swallowed if needed.

But hands are a little trickier. Nails and cuticles aren’t as easily to clean thoroughly, and can trap all sorts of bacteria, so with something like fingering your clients, it’s safest to use a barrier to significantly decrease the risk of infection or contamination.

Now fully protected, your fingertips start to trace over his beautiful cock, skimming along his inner thighs, and teasing his precious little hole, building up his anticipation. He gives a small whimper, looking away as you tease him just enough to make his hips buck up into your capable hands.

Eventually, you take his length and slowly pump it in your hand, catching his gaze whenever he looks to you. “Does Chim want to be filled up? You want me to play with your ass?”

He nods emphatically, still hiding his face.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes! Please p-play with my ass.” His face is positively scarlet, and you smile with satisfaction.

You let go of him, and reach beneath his bed to pull out his little chest of treasures. Anal beads, plugs, vibrators, nearly everything can be found inside. You think he might have even added to the collection since last time.

You select a small ribbed plug with a jewel decorating the base and grab the lube from your belt. You spread a generous amount over his hole, gently massaging it in. As you carefully push your forefinger past his puckered rim, he moans. You slide your finger gently in and out, stroking his silken walls, and he writhes beneath your touch, already overcome with pleasure.

“Are you ready, baby?”

He nods again, then remembers to speak. “Yes. I’m ready.”

You ease the tip of the plug past his rim, and soon the whole thing is nestled comfortably inside him. He lets out a whine, his thighs clenching as you slowly work the toy in and out of his hole. “Good boy… such a pretty cock.” You pet his thigh soothingly, then start to squeeze his cock, pumping it slowly in time with the plug.

It doesn’t take long before Jimin is moaning and squirming, his length rock hard and leaking precum. His moans get whinier, his breath more shallow, and you can tell he’s on the edge.

With a kiss to his hardened dick, you ease the plug out of his ass and cease all contact. Orgasm denial is something he’d brought up last time, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to test the waters. "I think such a good boy can hold his cum in until dinner…"

"No! Please! I-I can't." He covers his face with both hands, writhing desperately for some friction to his aching cock, his pink hole puckering cutely at the sudden emptiness.

So freaking cute.

"Oh? You want to cum now?" You chuckle, teasing the toy around his rim. "But then how will you fuck me along with the others at dinner if your little cock is all sad and empty?" You trace your fingernail up along his length, barely touching him.

He whimpers in reply, his member twitching in pleasure.

"Can you cum again for me tonight, baby boy? Promise me. Otherwise this little cock is going to stay hard." You grip him by the base of his shaft, tortuously brushing your forefinger over the leaking head of his cock.

"I promise I can! I'll cum for you at dinner, I-I swear it…"

You grin. You don’t expect to hold it to him, but you know it’s the looming threat of punishment that’s what’s most effective here. "I have your word, baby boy."

Your hand pumps his length to completion while you grab the toy and fuck it back inside of him, and he cries out in ecstasy, quickly cumming in spurts all over your hand, a few drops landing on his shirt while his body trembles from his climax.

"Good boy,” you coo, milking him through his high.

-------

It doesn’t take you long to clean Jimin up, as well as cleaning the toy for next time, and then you pack everything away. He’s still breathless by the time you’re finished, laying on the bed as he recovers from his orgasm.

You’re about to get up and grab your robe from the floor when Jimin finds his voice.

"Why were you really kissing Taehyung?"

Your stomach sinks at the question. You’d been hoping he’d forgotten - as you were trying to do - about your little bend of will earlier. How the hell are you supposed to answer that? Honesty. Always go for honesty.

Well, as honest as you can be without losing your job. "He commanded me."

"Is that all it takes?" Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up and he props up eagerly onto his elbows. "Kiss me, too."

You curse the flutter in your stomach. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You know for a fact that it's a bad idea, and out of the question, but damn if Park Jimin doesn't have the most luscious lips you've ever seen. The temptation is there, for sure...

"Just a little kiss?” He clasps his hands together, his eyes pleading. “It's only fair. You were practically making out with him."

Well, shit. Now what? Technically, not kissing clients is only a self-imposed rule on your part, plenty of PhysComs divulge in the act. You chose to restrict it for your own sanity. But, what now? Do you lie to yourself and stick to the book, even when you've already broken a cardinal rule? Or do you… see what's beyond the confines of its cover?

Fuck. You need to stop talking yourself into these things.

But to be fair, nothing bad happened last time, apart from Jimin walking in on you. You glance at the door, which is shut tight and locked, as is standard during a session. No risk of being interrupted.

Jimin’s eyes dart down to your lips as he chews on his own, waiting for your decision. Seeing his teeth tug at the plump pink skin has your heart skipping a beat despite your best effort to deny his effect on you.

Fuck it. Park Jimin is begging to kiss you.

"Okay, fine. One - very small - kiss." You pinch your fingers together to demonstrate.

“Yes!” He smiles brightly, and suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. He sits up fully, scooting closer to you.

Why is your heart beating so goddamn fast? Why are you nervous about this? "But, look, you can't tell anyone, okay? I’m making an exception since this isn't really in my job description."

He nods eagerly and seems happy to agree to any stipulations. “Just this once, I promise. It’ll be our secret.”

That makes it sound even more condemning somehow, but you don’t have time to second guess it as he cups your cheek and pulls you in, pressing his lips to yours.

His kiss is like some sort of paradise, it leaves your mind feeling fuzzy... his lips… how are they so thick and soft? He’s hypnotic, sweet, addictive… like nothing you’ve ever experienced.

Before you know it, he's laying you out on the bed, moaning as he licks into your mouth, his tongue breaching through the kiss while he gropes your breast. Fuck, you shouldn’t have agreed to do this naked. But he tastes so sweet, you can’t think of a reason to object, too intoxicated by his lips. He breaks away from your mouth and starts trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your body, and pretty soon he's mouthing at your inner thighs, his fingers skimming the base of your pussy plug.

Oh, shit. Wait, no, how did this happen?

"Master Park." You start to say, but then he's twisting the plug free, and you gasp at the unexpected stretch as it pulls out. "J-Jimin!"

He stops, his eyes wide at the use of his first name as he looks up at you from his lewd position.

"What the hell are you doing?" You ask, too flustered to rely on your usual formalities.

"Saying thank you." He replies simply. Then he leans down to kiss your clit, and begins mouthing at it devotedly.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the electric contact. Fuck, no one's gone down on you in a year at least, not since your training. Your body is screaming to let him continue, but you know it’ll lead to nowhere as he laves over your sensitive and neglected bud with his tongue, and you find yourself scooting up the bed and away from his blissful mouth. "Jimin, no. Stop."

You grab the plug from him and insert it again before anything can leak out, distress making your fingers tremble.

His face scrunches with concern. "Did I do it wrong?"

Damn it, why does he have to look like a heartbroken little puppy?

"No. No, it felt really good,” You assure him distractedly, trying to contain the frustration bubbling up inside you.

"Then why can't I-"

"Because!" You don’t mean to lash out, but your temper bursts before you can help it. "God, first Taehyung and now you, why is everyone trying to fuck with me today?"

His face falls, and he looks hurt. "I wasn't fucking with you."

"No, Jimin…” This day just keeps getting better and better. “I know you weren't. I'm sorry." You extend a hand, giving his shoulder a squeeze. It’s not his fault that you can’t seem to follow your own fucking rules. "But please don’t go down on me, not ever, okay?"

"Why not?” He frowns, and you feel even worse for letting this happen. “You deserve it. You do so much for us."

You pause, wondering whether you should lie. Always going for honesty hasn’t worked out too well so far... But looking at Jimin’s eyes, full of concern and confusion, you can’t bring yourself to lie to him. "Because I can't orgasm."

His brow furrows. "Just because it’s not a part of your job, doesn’t mean-"

"No, Jimin." You draw your knees up to your chest, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable for letting your guard down so easily around him. "I literally can't. I'm incapable."

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. This is not something you expected to have to talk about. "Do you know anything about modern birth control?"

He cocks his head to the side, unsure of where you’re going with this. "There are pills, right? And condoms too, I guess."

"There are also implants,” you explain, wringing your hands in your lap.

Jimin blinks, clearly confused. His gaze slides down to your chest for about half a second.

You sigh again. "Not that kind. It's like a piece of plastic they put inside you that emits a hormone. It stops ovaries from creating eggs. They're over 99% effective at preventing pregnancy."

He still looks confused. "Yeah, but why would that make you-"

You shake your head. "That's how most of them work. There's a newer, more tailored kind of implant for PhysComs that's 100% effective." When the technology was discovered, it was a hot item for PhysCom networks. Of course, some people developed negative side effects to it, but if one’s body was compatible with this new miracle form of birth control, it boosted their advantages in the field exponentially.

You let go of your legs and look to him, resignation in your gaze. "It puts the reproductive system into a comatose state and ceases all function of the ovaries and uterus apart from lubrication."

"Oh." Jimin looks shocked, and you don’t blame him. Barely anyone outside of the sex work industry has even heard of the technology. Who else would sacrifice their own pleasure for ensuring zero chance of pregnancy?

You’ve tried to climax before on your own, god knows. But the implant leaves you in a perpetual state of mild arousal with nowhere to go, like constantly revving an engine. Clitoral stimulation feels good at first, but with no resolution, it soon becomes tortuous.

You can put up with it for short periods, like if one of the boys starts to rub you while they fuck you. They mean well. But you’ve learned to convincingly fake an orgasm before it gets to be too much. Most of the time it’s not an issue, since your pleasure doesn’t enter into the equation.

"That's how all of you can cum inside me all the time. It's how I can keep it plugged up in me without any fear of getting pregnant." You laugh humorlessly, tapping the plug at your core.

Jimin stares at the plug, as if it’s presence has taken on an entirely new meaning to him. "I never thought about that."

You actually do laugh at his naïvety. “I’m sure no man would look that gift horse in the mouth.” You realize from his puzzled expression that the idiom might not translate well. “No man would question such a privilege.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess…” A shadow crosses over his face, and you decide to draw this uncomfortable conversation about your reproductive system to a close.

"There is a way to turn it off, in case of emergency side effects. But I can't just turn it off for fun. You have to understand that.” You rest your hand on his shoulder again, hoping he now comprehends the reason for your earlier outburst. “It's a part of my job."

"I understand. Sorry,” he says, giving you a small nod. He twists his mouth to the side, chewing over the revelations. "That must really suck. Not being able to cum."

You laugh heartily this time, your spirits lifted from his sentiment. "Yeah, it does sometimes." You give his thigh a pat and get up to go find your robe. "But I get to make all of you cum for me, so doesn't that make up for it?"

He shrugs, that pout appearing once more. You feel bad for bringing his mood down. You’re supposed to be lifting him up, making him feel good.

You tie the belt of your robe and come back over to him, your finger tracing under his chin.

"Come on, baby. Let's go order that outfit for you."

His spirits seem to lift a little at the proposition and you smile to yourself. Jimin truly is one of your easiest clients to please.

-----

A while later, you stand in Seokjin’s bedroom within his walk-in closet, admiring yourself in the full length mirror. You‘re wearing a gown more expensive than a house, and jewels decorate your throat and hair, elbow-length gloves adorning your hands.

“Are you ready for dinner, darling?” Seokjin purrs in your ear as he slinks up behind you, his hands lightly gliding up your waist.

“Yes, Master Kim.” Your answer is obedient and full of gratitude. You gaze at his reflection in the mirror, letting him take in your appearance.

“My, my, my… look at how lucky I am to have such a pretty pet, hm?” He chuckles, one of his hands skimming gingerly up your ribs and settling on your breast, squeezing you through the silken dress.

“Yes, master,” you sigh, leaning into his sinful touch and playing along with his fantasy. Seokjin's pleasure seems to hinge on your luxury. The more extravagance you’re dripping in, the hornier he gets. Which he often likes to complement with your unique position in the house...

“Such a pretty pet. I bet you’d gladly have us all fuck you on the dinner table, wouldn’t you?”

You shiver. Seokjin’s dirty talk was good when you started working for them, but it’s only improved over time. "Of course, master. I love to be your little fuck toy." You smile at him in the mirror, and then turn around in his arms, placing your hands on his chest.  "Please use me tonight, any way you wish."

“That’s the plan, darling.” He chuckles, taking your hands and bringing them up to his mouth, languidly kissing each and every knuckle. His eyes burn with unbridled passion, and you wonder if tonight he’ll be in the mood to fuck you before you even make it to dinner.

Seokjin looks gorgeous, dressed to the nines in a tailored suit, with his hair styled perfectly, not a single strand out of place. Anyone would fall to their knees if they received a look like the one he’s giving you now.

“I have a gift for you, my sweet.” A smile tugs at his lips.

You gasp in delight, your eyes wide and innocent. “I’m so lucky! What is it, master?” You know what it is. He gives you one once a week, every Friday night, when it’s his turn to call the shots.

“Close your eyes, pet.”

You obey, and feel a slim piece of leather grace your throat. In a few moments he tells you to look in the mirror again, and you see a decorative collar circling your neck.

“Oh, master…” You don’t have to pretend to be impressed. Though Jin collars you every week, he never uses the same collar more than once, and this week’s purchase is a decadent, lacy display, with tiny jewels inlaid in its surface. “It’s beautiful.”

His hands are on you again, skimming up your waist while he noses your neck. “A perfect fit for my beautiful slut,” he breathes, and you feel a flutter in the pit of your stomach. Jin is just as charming as the rest of them, and It would be easy to underestimate him, but that would be a grave mistake. He gives off a certain aura of power that’s unparalleled by any other man you’ve met.

“How many?” He asks in a husky whisper, one hand slipping down your back to ease over your ass.

You shiver. Jin gets satisfaction on his night of control by knowing how much cum you’d collected inside you over the course of the day. “Sixteen.”

His hand comes down in a hard spank, rubbing you ass afterward to calm the sting. “Fuck. So greedy…” he rumbles, his voice thick with lust. “That’s more than two rounds each… Did you beg for them to fill you up, like the little whore you are?” His voice is soothing and elegant, a stark contrast to the filth coming from his beautiful mouth.

You nod, biting your lower lip. Anything to hear his silken voice in your ear again.

“You’ll eat well tonight, my sweet…” his voice lilts as he kisses up your neck, his hands slipping up once more to your tits, squeezing them possessively.

You moan softly, leaning your head back to expose more of your throat. Jin’s presence feels secure and thrilling all at once. You know he’ll never hurt you, but the effortless brand of posh dominance he wields keeps you on your toes.

“How do you feel towards Taehyung, pet?”

Your blood runs cold. How did he find out? Did Tae tell him what happened? Fuck. You try to keep your voice even, try not to let yourself become stiff in his arms. “Why do you ask, master?”

Seokjin shrugs one shoulder, more concerned with peeling down the bodice of your dress to reveal your breasts. “He requested the first taste of you tonight. I obviously won’t grant him the privilege of touching my pet if he’s done anything at all to fall out of your good graces.”

You swallow. You don’t know why Tae requested to go first, and you’d rather not give him any more ground until you’ve had a chance to talk to him. To make sure he knows the kiss was a one-time thing. To make sure he hasn’t gotten any ideas about those feelings of his.

“I… I would rather have someone else go first, master.” You say quietly, knowing that refusing Tae’s request could be just as condemning as going through with it and whatever he’d been planning to do to you.

Jin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question you. You remind yourself to calm down. For all he knows Taehyung could have eaten all the breakfast cereal. He doesn’t have to know why Tae’s not in your favor right now. “Very well, pet. I’ll choose someone else.”

“Thank you, master.” You visibly relax, and let Seokjin play with your tits. He circles his thumbs over your nipples, and they quickly become erect under his touch.

“Do you know why I gave you this collar?” He murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he licks up your neck.

You know. “Why, master?”

“Because tonight you’ll be passed around and fucked by all of us. Every member of this household.” His words are crisp, in delicious contrast with his soft hands massaging your breasts. “You’ll be our dessert course. I want them to remember that you’re mine and that I’m granting them the privilege of fucking my sweet little toy and having a taste of you.” He nips at your neck, sucking gently before pulling away. “And I want you to remember that you belong to no one else in that room but myself.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers, tugging at the sensitive buds. “You obey me, and me alone. Is that understood?”

You whimper and nod. “Yes, Master Kim.”

“What a good little slut.” He smiles serenely and gives each tit a light swat before tugging your bodice back over your chest.

There’s a moment of tender silence as he observes you in the mirror. His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s set his act aside for a brief moment. “You know, you’re really good at this.” He smiles appreciatively, giving you a warm hug around the middle and nuzzling into your neck.

You laugh at his break in character, laying your arms atop his. “It’s my job to be good at it,” you reply with a fond roll of your eyes.

He straightens his posture and adjusts his cufflinks, resuming his role seamlessly. “We’ll be starting the main course in thirty minutes. Be prepared.”

You nod obediently, and he hovers close to you once more. His tongue darts out to lick up your cheek possessively. “Be good while I’m away, pet.”

You watch as he leaves the room, the door shutting softly behind him. Well, you have half an hour of time to kill before they’re ready for you.

Pretty soon after you were hired, the boys’ company decided it would be a good idea for them to take turns living out their wildest fantasies with you. One night of the week is dedicated to each of them, and during that night, whoever’s in charge can do whatever they want with you, and the other boys have to either watch or join in. Their company said it’s good for group bonding, and for healthy sexual expression. The boys decided who would have which night through rock, paper, scissors, and Seokjin got slotted for Fridays.

Something about Seokjin’s banquet nights always give you jitters, as if you’re about to perform onstage. Well, if you count a tabletop as a stage. Regardless, you always find ways to relax before the show, so to speak.

Tonight you’ve decided to kill the time on your ComGear, with the few limited apps you’re allowed to have. You’ve become a master at solitaire and minesweeper, and as you take a seat on the chaise lounge, kicking your feet up, you select the hardest difficulty mode.

Honestly, you haven’t played a good game of solitaire in several weeks. But last banquet night you finished the novel you’d been reading and you’re now suffering from a severe hangover from the detailed and colorful universe the author had crafted. The next book in the series isn’t set to release for a few months, so until then you’re back at the games.

Easy. You beat the game in under ten minutes. There have to be some more difficulty levels. You switch to the settings menu and scroll until you find the gameplay options.

Huh. Strange. An option you don’t remember seeing before. ‘Connect and play with your friends!’ Psh, what friends? Did your network forget to disable the useless feature? Curious, you tap on the button and are greeted with a spinning circle, indicating that the game is probably trying to find your non-existent friends from your non-existent contact list. ComGears are so heavily restricted, they might as well be walkie talkies. All you’re allowed on there is messaging and scheduling between you, your clients, and your handler. Plus the games. But you’d requested those.

After several moments, you give up waiting and put the Gear away. You have more pressing issues on your mind, and solitaire isn’t enough of a distraction.

Why had Taehyung requested you first tonight? In fact, why had he disappeared right after the… kissing incident? He hasn’t messaged you since then, and the lack of closure is starting to make you antsy. You can trust him, right? Yesterday, you would have said so, undoubtedly. But you also wouldn’t have guessed that he had anything more than platonic feelings for you.

God, men are so complicated.

You groan and stand up, spending the rest of your down time doing your stretches, going through your positive affirmations, and trying not to worry about Taehyung. He’s under Jin’s control tonight, nothing bad will happen.

You hope.

-------

The dining room of the house is enormous, with high ceilings, chandeliers, and ornate paintings on the walls. Seokjin goes all out for his banquets and makes the room seem even more opulent with the addition of candlelight, a trained wait staff, and vases full of roses found on nearly every surface.  Formal dress is required, and all the other boys are dressed just as fancily as Seokjin, though not all of them can pull it off quite as elegantly. He makes sure to hire a string quartet, the most elite caterers, and he even calls in the secondary PhysComs to assist during the meal.

You see, Seokjin has a very specific type of kink he likes to experience. It has to do with food, but it’s not exactly considered foodplay. Jin loves to combine fine dining with sexual acts.

During the first course, PhysComs are beneath the table, sucking off each member while they taste their soups and salads. They’re not allowed to cum until desert, so the PhysComs are only there to get them hard and ready.

The second course marks the beginning of the voyeurism. A fish course is served while a PhysCom is strapped down to the table and teased with at least one vibrator, moans and whimpers filling the room in harmony with the string quartet. Seokjin encourages the boys to talk about their week so far for some family time, largely ignoring the sinful sounds coming from their overstimulated centerpiece.

During the third course, sex is performed on the table by any number or gender of willing PhysComs, while the boys are forced to watch while they eat the stew you made. Jin often likes to give commentary on the PhysCom’s forms, or occasionally direct them around.

Lastly is the dessert course, where you make your grand entrance. All their hungry, lust-crazed eyes are on you, horny as hell from all the buildup. A maid brings you in on a leash, attached to your collar. You walk past the cluster of secondaries, and they aim stares at you, some jealous, some of admiration. You don’t care. Your eyes are on Seokjin. Your owner for the evening.

He stands as you enter, his eyes burning with barely contained lust. “Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you, our dessert.”

The other boys rise as well, and you can sense Taehyung’s stare burning into you, but you avoid meeting his gaze. Your eyes are locked on Seokjin. He orders the maid to help you up, and soon you’re standing atop the table, all eyes upon you. She hands the leash to him. You await his orders.

“Take off your dress, dear.” Seokjin says, sitting back down, and the other boys follow suit. His voice is quiet, but the atmosphere is so charged with sexual tension, you could hear a pin drop.

You reach behind to undo your zipper, the noise simply sinful as your dress falls to the tablecloth, pooling around your feet. You hear a few inhales of breath from around the table.

“Bring the bowl.” Jin’s voice commands again, and a butler hurries over with a jewel encrusted dish, setting it at Seokjin’s right. After that, he dismisses all the other people in the room. The only ones left are you and the seven men around the table.

Jin takes the dog bowl, holding it up to the light and watching the way the crystals shimmer and gleam. “How many loads did you take today, my pet?”

“Sixteen,” you reply obediently, and you see Yoongi’s jaw clench from the corner of your eye.

Jin makes a rumble in his throat, like an affirmative. “So much cum to fit in such tight little holes.”

You nod, awaiting his instructions.

He licks his lips and places the bowl at your feet. “Empty yourself out for me, darling.”

You smile. Kneeling down over the dog bowl, you carefully remove the plug from your cunt, and moan as you feel their cum start to trickle out of you.

You can feel their eyes staring, faces flushed, lips bitten, as their combined releases drip into the dish, slowly coating the bottom.

Seokjin’s hands are tented in front of his face, hiding all but his glittering eyes from view. “Now your ass,” he murmurs huskily, and they all watch as you twist that plug out too, and even more cum joins the rest. Sixteen loads from throughout the day fill the dish, and you look to Seokjin, awaiting further instruction.

“Jimin.” He says, and the boy’s ears perk up. “Would you do the honors of fucking her first?”

Jimin scrambles up, as if unable to move fast enough. He climbs onto the table and unzips his pants, his hands shaking. Meanwhile, Jin orders you on all fours and pushes the dish closer to you. “Why don’t you enjoy your dinner, my pet? It’s been cooking all day.”

He takes such filthy pleasure in scenes like this, it makes your core clench just from the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. “Yes, master.”

You lean down and start to lap at the bowl. You can feel Jimin’s hands on your ass, but… something’s wrong. Why isn’t he fucking you?

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at him, a “what the fuck” look on your face for interrupting the flow of the scene, and see something unexpected. Hesitation colors Jimin’s expression, and he looks between you and Seokjin, seemingly torn.

Everyone’s eyes are on you.

Jimin leans over to speak privately, his tone lowered so only you can hear. “Do… do you want to be fucked right now?”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. Why the hell would he be concerned about that?

Seokjin realizes that something isn’t right, and he snaps his fingers. “Jimin, sit down. Hoseok, go fuck her.”

Hoseok is always a good fuck. He grins and climbs on the table, fishing his cock out of his dress slacks. “Ah, look at this ass. Pretty as always,” he chuckles and gives you a light spank before lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes into you with a heated groan, his hands groping you appreciatively. “So wet, baby…” Soon he’s snapping his hips into you at a good pace, filling you up with his length.

But you can’t focus. You stare at Jimin, sitting shamefully with his head bent. You look to Taehyung, sitting across from him, only to see a smirk on his face. What the hell is going on?

Taehyung subtly catches Jimin’s attention and mouths something to him, but of course it’s Korean, so you can’t make out the words as Hoseok pounds into you. Jimin’s eyes widen and his grip tightens on the stem of his wine glass, his knuckles white as his expression changes to one of anger. Tae merely smirks and sits back in his chair, a challenge in his eyes.

What the fuck is happening? Is this about you?

Your heart sinks through the floor. It has to be. You and your damn lips are the only common denominator in this equation.

Hoseok grabs your leash from Jin and tugs on it, the collar forcing your head back. Your neck feels like it might snap from the sudden strain of trying to keep watching their silent conversation, but it’s no use from this angle, and you give up, forced to stare at the ceiling as your legs quiver and anxiety washes over you, a sense of foreboding starting to build in your chest...

Someone jumps to their feet, their chair scraping back from the force, and something crashes to the ground with the unmistakable noise of breaking glass.

“Jimin!” Seokjin’s voice cuts through the sound of Hobi fucking you, and he halts his thrusts. You’re able to see again, pants of breath from Hoseok filling the silence as Jimin looks down, frustrated at being reprimanded. “What’s gotten into you? Sit down, now.”

Taehyung chuckles, seemingly satisfied with himself, and Jin looks to him with narrowed eyes. “That goes for both of you. Stop fucking around.”

“Yes, sir.” Taehyung merely shrugs. You can see Jungkook place a hand on Jimin’s arm, his eyes wide with concern as he helps him calm down and return to his seat. Namjoon shoots Taehyung a look, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, his eyes still fixed on Jimin.

Seokjin’s attention turns back to your display, sighing from the interruption, and he gestures for Hoseok to go harder on you. Hoseok is all too happy to comply, chuckling as he pushes down on your back, forcing your face into the bowl of cum as he pulls out of you and starts fucking into your ass instead.

Normally this is part of the proceedings. But this time you aren’t prepared, too distracted and worried by Taheyung and Jimin to focus properly, and you gasp into the bowl, choking on the pool of stickiness and sputtering on cum as you turn your face away to try and catch your breath.

Seokjin has no reason to sense anything is amiss with you, as you would sometimes struggle for show. He hums and pets your hair as you’re fucked into the table. You try to inhale, but your lungs won’t work.

You feel suffocated by the weird tension in the room, and your heart starts pounding in your ears. You know this is your fault. The other boys all look uncomfortable. Jimin’s shooting daggers at Taehyung, and Tae is glaring right back. This isn’t right.

You just need a minute to think, a minute to sort this out, to fucking talk to them and clear this up. Fuck, you want Hobi to stop. You want everything to stop. You feel overwhelmed, you can’t take it anymore, and you’re flooded with shame as tears spring to your eyes.

“Bulletproof!”

You cry out your safe word, a sob wracking your body. “Fuck! I’m sorry...”

It takes Hoseok a split second to realize what you said before he pulls out of you, his eyes wide with worry. The others all look just as shocked, and Jin jumps to his feet in an instant, helping you off the table. “What can I do, darling?” He asks with concern, grabbing a napkin and carefully wiping the cum off your face.

He doesn’t question why you broke character, he only wants to help, and that makes you want to cry harder. But you pull yourself together, inhaling deeply to keep any more tears from falling. There’s only one person who can help you clear your head, and your gaze turns to him, your voice wavering. “I need to speak privately with Kim Namjoon.”

All eyes fall on their leader, who looks just as surprised to be requested. “Uh, yeah. Sure thing.” Namjoon gets up, his high backed chair scraping against the polished wooden floor as he circles around the table to you.

Namjoon is the conduit between them and their company. An ambassador of sorts. If anyone could help you sort this out, it would be him.

As he comes over, he takes off his suit jacket, draping the garment over your shoulders to help cover your naked form. “We’ll just be a minute, guys,” he calls over his shoulder, one supportive hand on your back as he guides you into the other room, leaving behind a different sort of tension, one of fear and worry.

-------

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Namjoon says softly, shutting the door behind him. He’s taken you to one of the larger bathrooms, with a few areas to sit in addition to a toilet, soaking tub, shower stalls, and a few sinks. “Is everything okay?”

Clearly it isn’t, but him trying to bring some normalcy into the situation makes you want to cry all over again. “No, it’s not.” You sit down on a cushioned bench, covering you face with your hands. “Fuck, I’m so sorry…”

“No, no. Shh… it’s okay, honey, really.” His hand on your back is more of a comfort than you’d care to admit, and you find yourself wishing he would hold you, wishing you could cry in his arms.

But no, damn it, that’s what’s gotten you into trouble in the first place.

“Mr. Kim, I-”

“Please, call me Namjoon. I don’t mind.” He gives you a small smile, and his willingness to be informal with you adds another layer of comfort.

“Namjoon.” You start again, and he looks to you with sincerity. “I, uh… fuck, I don’t know how to explain this.” You give a rueful laugh, running a hand through your hair.

“It’s okay. Take all the time you need.” He rubs your back soothingly, offering you a tissue from a nearby box to dry your eyes.

“Thanks.” You blow your nose, and a part of you feels self-conscious, letting him see you this way. You haven’t been this out of character in front of him since you were hired. “Um… okay. So, earlier today, two of the other members kissed me. I didn’t want it to happen, but it did...” It tumbles out of you in a rush, and you glance down nervously. Damn. This the third time you’ve lowered your walls in front of them today. What the hell is happening?

He seems to chew on your statement for a moment before proceeding, his tone cautious. “It was against your will? They forced themselves on you?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No! No, they didn’t- it wasn’t like that. It was… nice.” You’re ashamed to admit that you took pleasure in breaking your own rules, but you can’t let him think they were forcing you to do it. “I enjoyed it.”

He looks more confused. “So, you did want it to happen…?”

“Not at first! I mean… ugh, I shouldn’t have let it happen at all.” You grouse, still kicking yourself for being so unprofessional. “I think at least one of them might… have developed feelings for me.”

A moment of clarity lights his eyes. “You’re worried about keeping up boundaries.”

You nod miserably. Thank god someone in this house understands your limits.

“Who was it?”

“Huh?” Your gaze snaps to him.

He repeats the question. “Who kissed you?”

Your eyes lower to the floor. You feel bad dropping names, but he probably has a good reason for asking. “Taehyung and Jimin.”

His mouth stretches into a thin line. “I see.”

“I don’t know what to do. I feel like they’re trying to breach my professional boundaries. But... I like it. But I shouldn’t!” You groan. “Fuck, I have to keep this job...” A weary sigh leaves your throat and you try to keep your tears at bay this time.

Namjoon makes a noise of understanding. He seems to ponder the problem for a moment before speaking. “Those two are young. They’re still figuring out their feelings.” He says it to comfort you, you’re sure. But you decide not to point out that he’s only a year older than them. “But I think I know how to fix this.”

You sit up straight. “You do? How?”

Namjoon smiles, his dimples poking through. “Like I said, they’re young. They want what they can’t have.” He smirks. “You made kissing off-limits, right? So they want it now.”

You’re following his logic so far. It would make sense that something off-limits is more tantalizing… that’s certainly how you felt when kissing them.

He continues. “Look, if you liked it, then that means it’ll happen again. No offense, but willpower is damned when it comes to matters of the heart.” He gives a wry chuckle.

“Remind me how we’re fixing the situation?” You ask skeptically, wrapping his jacket around yourself and nudging him with your arm.

He smiles. “It’s simple, really. I think you have to desensitize them to kissing. We need to show them it doesn’t mean anything that they kissed you. You’re still just their PhysCom.”

You blink, still at a loss. “How do we do that?”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and he has that same tender look in his eyes as he does right after you would get him off.

“I think we should go out there, and I should kiss you senseless, sweetheart.”

[luxexhomines]

Hi! Can I have images for maki, shuichi, and rantaro who are dating an S/O who is struggling with their weight due to medical/allergy reasons (for reference, it's called exercise induced anaphylaxis) and is feeling self concious? If you dont want to write an overweight S/O then you can just do the self concious bit

Hi, anon! Thanks for the request. Sorry that it took me forever to fulfill (I thought I wasn’t going to ever get to the requests at the bottom of my inbox, but I looked back and thought I’d like to do some). Icon credit to mckindonalds!

It wasn’t an easy request for me to fulfill since I wasn’t sure what was appropriate for the reader to say or exactly how they felt about it, but this is kind of just a piece of comfort in each one. I hope you find something that you like in these imagines, although I’m unsure if this is what you were hoping for exactly. Hopefully, Maki isn’t too OOC because I didn’t make her very tsundere at all. Under the cut, since altogether it makes the post rather long.

Maki, Shuichi, & Rantaro x S/O with Exercise-Induced Anaphylaxis

Maki Harukawa

Maki rapped on the door politely. She had manners, unlike a certain someone she might name. After a short while, you came to the door. 

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t-”

“You didn’t want to move too fast in case you got sick,” she finishes for you. “I understand,” she says. Contrary to her cold demeanor, her dark red eyes softened around the edges as she looked at you, her beloved, and she came inside the house with the slightest of smiles playing at her lips. 

You lead her to your room, and the two of you sit on the floor and chat. At first, it was only idle chatter: what each of you’d been up to recently, and how the summer weather was treating you. But somehow, you end up saying the words, the feelings you had never wanted to reveal to her. 

“I hate this. I wish I could be normal,” you say spitefully before gasping and covering your mouth. You desperately tried to bite back the tears and stared at the floor heatedly. All the tears you’d been swallowing day after day, night after night, year after year. You could do it again. 

You felt a hand grab yours, and you looked to see Maki’s small but strong grasp on yours. You felt weaker than ever. 

“Hey. Look at me,” she says, and you do. Her eyes are filled with concern and a tinge of sadness. You chew on your lip softly. 

“Maki?” 

She grabs your other hand in hers, too, and somehow it only triggered more feelings you thought you’d left behind long ago. Feelings you buried never really went away; they marinated in the new feelings and warped, but they were still here. Feelings of shame, rage, and self-hatred. 

“Is it so bad to show your weakness to me?” Maki says quietly. “You know I was an assassin, and I’ve talked to you about all the ugly, terrible things I’ve done and seen. They’re not the same at all, but that’s my weakness, and I’ve shared it with you.” 

You tighten your hold on Maki’s hand slightly. Somehow, your hands fit together so perfectly. 

“I thought my weakness was obvious,” you said self-deprecatingly, throwing a wayside glance at yourself. Your body. 

She shakes her head firmly. Without letting go of your hands, she gets on her knees and shifts over closer to you, so that your bodies are almost touching. 

“I know you struggle with losing weight because of your condition,” she says. “But I hadn’t realized that you’d been suffering so much.” 

Maki sounded sorrowful. It was maybe the most emotion you’d ever felt from her, aside from when she had been talking about her time as an assassin or was pissed off by certain people. 

“...Are you disappointed?” you say. You didn’t want to hear the answer if it was yes, but you still asked anyway. 

“No. Never,” she replies, and she looks you right in the eye. “You’re just as strong as you’ve always been. But there’s no harm in sharing your worries and pains with me. I’m your partner. I’m supposed to be here for you, and I want to be here for you.” 

You attempt a weak smile. 

“Is it a part of the contract?” 

She sighs. 

“I’m serious, s/o.” 

“So am I,” you joke, and you feel the heaviness in your heart slowly dissolving. 

Maki presses her forehead to yours. 

The funny thing about being in a relationship with Maki was that she was so much more daring and affectionate than she would’ve been once her feelings were returned. She wasn’t as cold, per se, as she was before you two were together. 

“I love you, s/o.”

Your breath was whisked away by those words, and you froze. 

Maki squeezed your hands gently. “...s/o? Hey, are you not breathing or something?” 

Right. She was close enough to tell. 

You breathed in slowly. 

“Are you sure?” you say. But you know the answer. She wouldn’t say what she doesn’t mean. 

“I’m sure,” she laughs, and she kisses you sweetly. “You’re beautiful.” 

More words that would take away your breath. But you breathe normally this time. She was sweeter than any air you could ever take in, though. 

“I love you too, Maki. And for the record, I’m the ugly one in this relationship.” 

She pouts and draws away slightly, releasing your hands and putting her hands on your shoulders instead so she can look you in the face from the right distance. 

“That would be me,” she says. “You’re always smiling, and you have the most beautiful smile ever. Tell me if anyone says anything to oppose that, and I’ll punch them for you.” 

You chuckle. 

“Your services are always appreciated, but that’s alright. I can punch them myself,” you respond. “But fine. Neither of us is the ugly one. We can both be beautiful.” 

Maki nods in satisfaction. 

“We are both beautiful.” 

You can’t help giggling at her statement. It would sound so funny out of context. She leans in and tweaks your nose slightly. “And what are you laughing at, huh?” 

You bat at her hand. 

“Hey!” 

You fall into a fit of laughter with her, and the two of you lie on the ground, cheeks hurting from smiles and joy. Somehow, it was so easy to feel at ease around her. Even your most heavily guarded worries and pains seemed to sprout wings and fly away in her presence. 

“Thanks, Maki.” 

“What for?” she says and turns to look at you. Her serious expression makes your heart skip a beat, and you wet your lips nervously. Sometimes you still felt like you just had a crush on her instead of being in a real relationship with her. 

“Never mind that,” you reply, and you roll over and press a kiss to her lips. “I need to recharge.” 

She arches an eyebrow. 

“Oh? Well, now that you mention it, so do I.” 

You find yourself in her warm embrace and rather preoccupied for the rest of the day. 

Shuichi

“Shuichi?” 

The two of you were sitting on the couch and, up until that time, had been reading quietly in companionship with each other. He set his book down, probably sensing something in your tone. 

“Yes?” 

You weren’t looking at him, although he had now turned to look at you. Instead, you were poking at your round tummy. 

“Why am I like this?” 

He reached out and grabbed your hand, stopping you from poking yourself. You glanced at him, and his dirty gold eyes were serious. 

“Like what?” 

You sighed. 

“You know.” 

He shook his head stubbornly, looking irritated for once. 

“No, I don’t.” 

You struggled to take back your hand, but instead, he somehow made it so the two of you were holding hands snugly. 

“Ugh. Why do I look like this?” you complained and avoided eye contact with him. He was surprisingly persistent when it came to you saying things like this. 

He pulled you closer to him so that you were leaning on him, and let go of your hand only to wrap his arm around you. 

“You look like you. You look lovely.” 

You groaned. 

“But I don’t want to look like this. It’s because I can’t exercise that I’m like this.” 

“Do you think your true self lies elsewhere?” he asks. “Do you think this body isn’t you?” 

You pondered. 

“I don’t really know because I’ve pretty much always been like this. Of course, my body has changed since childhood, but...I’ve never lived without this.” 

There was contemplative silence for a while. Shuichi seemed to always compel you to think more about everything in his presence. 

“...I still love you either way. I know it’s hard, but I’m here for you,” he says solemnly. “I won’t let you just agonize over this alone. You’re my s/o, after all.” 

You turn your head to look at him, and you’re suddenly aware of how close in proximity the two of you are. 

“Is that a promise?” you say, one side of your lips quirking upwards. 

He leans in and boops your nose with his own.

“Always.” 

Rantaro

You were lying on the bed side-by-side with Rantaro, cuddling. He was gently petting your head, as he sometimes did, and you leaned into his touch. It was comfortable and soothing. It would be easy to fall asleep under these circumstances. You sighed. 

“Is something wrong?” he said, sounding slightly concerned. “I think that’s the fifth time you’ve sighed today.” 

“I...no, it’s nothing. I was just thinking.” 

He peered into your eyes curiously. 

“About what?” 

You sighed again. 

“About my condition. And how I wouldn’t look like this if I didn’t have it.” 

He didn’t say much for a moment, just continued to pet your head. Then, he responded. 

“Do you not like your appearance?” 

You bit your lip softly. 

“I wish I was thinner.” 

“And why is that?” 

You reached out and played with a lock of his wavy green hair. 

“Because...I would be more good-looking.” 

Rantaro was quiet for another few seconds, looking contemplative.

“Do you honestly think you would be more good-looking if you were thinner, or is that what society’s conditioned you into thinking? That thinner is more beautiful or handsome?” 

You were frustrated and looked away from those probing eyes. 

“Well, it’s not like it’s just that I wish I was thinner because I think I’m ugly. My condition isn’t exactly healthy.”

He stopped moving for a moment and then continued to pet your head. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Since we’d just been talking about your appearance at first… Well, it’s not an excuse. Aside from your condition causing health issues, I still think you’re as good-looking as good-looking gets, though.” He smiles in that casual, carefree way of his, and you can’t help but forgive him. 

“Alright, alright. Your opinion is the only one that matters, huh?” You arch an eyebrow and smirk at him. “Pretty boy.” 

He raised his hands in defense. 

“Hey, I was born this way.” 

You rolled your eyes and lightly punched him on the shoulder. 

“You were born this way, but you dress this way on purpose.” 

“Ouch,” he grins. “But true. And yes, for the record, my opinion is the only one that matters. At least, when it comes to you. ‘Cause I love you, and I’m blessed to have you in my life.” 

You freeze for a moment and then grinned back at him. 

“I love you too, Rantaro. And I’m lucky to be loved by you.” 

He pulls you into his embrace and affectionately smooches you on your forehead. 

“Ditto.”

[mitterstorm]

Dance For Me

Chapter 1

“Finally we are here today to seek and to receive comfort. We would be less than honest if we said that our hearts have not ached over this situation. We are not too proud to acknowledge-

You couldn’t take it anymore, just by standing here listening to that preach addressed his departure. Your knees feel weak and your eyes burn, but you refuse to make a scene, taking deep breaths while clenching your fists is helping you calm down.

Still, it’s not enough.

You want to scream again just as you did when you saw his body limp against yours, scratch your arms in attempts of making the pain and hurt go away. To drift your mind from these ugly feelings.

A sick way of coping indeed, teensy bit of self-harm ain't going to kill you. It helps you somehow, preventing yourself from breaking even further in a public place like the cemetery.

Finally, you regain control of yourself and shift back to the preacher. Unfortunately, he concluded, now you have to prepare for the worse.  

Henry, who is your most precious friend, is dead. His body was being carried away in the concealment of a coffin; he said his last farewell to you early in the morning when you ate breakfast with him, offering your company so he wouldn't feel alone, regain some strength by appreciation itself.

Something was up that morning; the old fart was more talkative than usual and flashed a smile here and there. You are at fault for not noticing from the start. You should have been more perceptive and observant; you are keen on people after all, especially when he gave you that look as if he was parting ways with you. He didn’t fight death, accepted it as embracing a hug from an old friend. That thought alone fills your head with doubt.

Was he even happy when he left?

 Did he feel satisfied with the life he lived?

 Were you enough?

 Fuck, you never would've imagined his passing will affect you this much.

<<You old geezer, why were you so kind to me? Why did we let ourselves get attached?>>

The time is near, you will eventually have to confront him with all of these people staring at you, but you need to be strong for sake. You are what’s left of his loved ones. Linda died long ago. They never had a chance to procreate and bring a new life, Joey went mad or something along those lines.

Just like the rest of the crew, and he didn’t make any friends while he was on service for the military. If he did, they were dead. He didn’t like to talk about it.

<<I tried to make you happy, make you feel at ease as you did for me>>

Yet he kept secrets from you, of course, you respected his wishes and didn’t pry any further.

However, it stung.

<<Now it’s not time to reminisce, there’s nothing to reminisce for me at the moment>>

They called your name to the front; you ran out of time. It’s your turn. Is your first time burying someone, yes, you have assisted other burials besides this one, but now you are who’s lost a loved one. Those past times were favors people close to you had asked a long time ago; they said it felt nice to have somebody there when someone else is missing in their lives. In other words, you were there as comfort. A shoulder they could use to cry and lean on.

Hesitant, you take away from the burier’s grasp his shovel and with a gulp. You start shoveling some dirt into the hole were Henry’s coffin lies.

<<Shit, I can’t stop trembling! Come on, stop being a pussy and get over with this!>>

Despite that, your body wouldn’t obey, it made you look clumsy. No matter how much you lied to yourself.

You are scared.

After burying Henry, your vision goes black.

Waking up tomorrow morning at home without a clue of how you got there made your mind fuzzy.

How fun.

You try to get up, but end up failing.

“Fuuuuuck! Why do I feel like absolute shit! Everything hurts!” These feel just like a hangover. Why does it feel like one? Did you go to a bar once Henry’s funeral ended? How much did you drink?

“Enough to blackout it appears,” You say under your breath. Of course, your dumb ass would go to a bar and get drunk to cope with the pain! An upcoming headache awaits you for being arbitrary, instead of showing apprehension towards the situation and mourn, as you should, your voice of reason zonked out. “I reek of booze. Agh, it stinks”.

No more addressing what happened yesterday; feeling like trash isn't doing you any good. Henry would have called you out on your bullshit.

"Stop whining like a whore and man up, chum! I'll buy you a drink. Later we can relax and cut you some slack, nothing a magsman like myself can't do".

“Ok boomer,” You said in a humdrum tone, at least it made you laugh internally. “lo and behold, this will be a shitty morning-err afternoon, it’s 1 PM, I thought it was too early to be awake”.

That means it’s time for brunch.

Must compel your stomach desires, eat a lot little of food. Therefore, you'll have to leave the bed, go downstairs where the kitchen is; you force yourself out of the comfiness that are your covers. So you walk out of the room barefoot towards the kitchen. You open the fridge faking interest with whatever is inside and close it, then repeat, only that this time you pay a little more of attention.

You grab the water pitcher and pour some in a glass, then look for oatmeal and toss three spoonfuls of it at the water, after that you chuck a spoonful of sugar and mix it. A simple drink full of roughage. It’ll suffice for now.

*Clink clink*

Metal hitting porcelain serves you as a white noise to rearrange your thoughts. Yesterday was hectic and had your mind high wire, you were thinking about the old man; how long have you two been friends? Five or six years more or less, you met each other by autumn at a hospital. On that occasion, you were merely an intern in the middle of their practice and had to change sheets, deliver meals, give them their meds and reassure they took them at the time the doctors had said. Like a nurse or carer (the difference it’s you possess more knowledge than one and can prescribe medication, it was also part of your duty as a trainee assisting the doctors with whatever you could). That’s how both of you came face to face with.

Mr. Stein was sick and injured. He needed to tend some wounds since they required special treatment. Battle scars, you didn’t know at the time, however, as days passed, you became close to him, he told you how he got them; the biggest can be found on his back.  

Unfortunately, a sharp pain arose, preventing you from wandering further in the past. You had forgotten about your headache, which it’s more noticeable now, you are sure there aren’t any pills left.

“I ain’t leaving being this crappy, besides I don’t feel like moving right now…” Your eyelids are heavy and keeping them open, it’s such a pain, so you shut ‘em in hopes of relaxing for a little bit. Leaning your back on the kitchen island while drinking your beverage, its coldness helping you somehow with the throb.

Once again, your mind wanders.

Thanks to it, you know where to find some ibuprofen.

“Are these the ones?” You asked while holding a box for him to see, squinting Henry finally recognized the packet.

“What’s it called again?” He questioned, rubbing his head to ease the ache a bit. His voice raspy because of a dry throat. His normal soft tone replaced by a croaky. He’s clearly suffering.  

“Ibuprofen.” You read aloud as you’ve been asked and turn back to look at him.

“Yup, that’s the one, lass. I know I’ve bothered you enough, but could you serve me a glass of water?”

“You old coot, not a bother at all. I’ll be back with your water in a jiffy”.

The pills are somewhere inside Henry’s studio. You can do that, going upstairs isn’t as demanding as buying them, cuz leaving home means changing clothes that look presentable and aren’t dirty. Henceforth, you don’t feel in the mood for seeing the outside.

“I should stop thinking of how lazy I am and look for those meds…” Talking to yourself it’s quite common, so you ain’t no stranger to these situations.

Therefore, you took a break from your bullshit and went upstairs where Henry Stein used to draw; he passed most of his time in there, secluded from the outside world, before military service, he worked at an animation studio owned by the man he once considered his best friend, Joey Drew was his name if your memory doesn’t fail you.

Your friend called him a bastard, never explained why only responded by saying: “He lost his mind.”

Nevertheless, Henry kept drawing cartoons, and sometimes, he would let you watch him sketch and answered your questions. He carried on with his old comics he left unfinished long ago. The same he had drawn back thirty years ago. The main characters are three little fellas: Bendy, Alice Angel, and Boris. Henry said they animated their adventures and later on, added side characters. The Butcher Gang, if you recall, also consists of a trio: Charley, Barley, and Edgar.

When Henry started storytelling, you felt like a kid back again, he could’ve marked your childhood just as the rest of animators who made those toons while you were a child. Oh, how you treasured these memories, you’ll never forget the time you spent together.

Evoking past times has helped to soothe your headache an itty-bitty, yet you still need to find the ibuprofen.

“Where could it be…” You asked to no one, hoping the walls may respond, even though it’ll never happen.

Seeking everywhere you soon turned the room upside down, papers on the floor resembling a carpet, art supplies rolling across the table (pencils, colors, pens, paintbrushes, blending stumps, etc.) and some books based on anatomy and animation were disorganized on their bookshelves. It all ended after you opened a drawer (this one didn’t need your touch, it was already a disorder) and found what you were looking for, and because of your rashness, more papers fell on the floor.

“Damn, what a mess…” You muttered under your breath a little irritated with yourself for being so careless while searching. You collected the papers and put them in order back again one by one, because of it you grew curious and read some of them, a letter grabbed your attention.

It was one of those fancy letters with a seal and all (what does it say? Seems of importance).

You don’t consider yourself nosy, just interested in its contents.

<<From Joey Drew? Huh, looks like your old buddy send you his salutations after all this time>>

Oh, you had no idea.

Henry knew about the letter, he already read it and did as they told him. The old studio where they used to make dreams come true transformed into a living hell.

‘DEAR HENRY

IT SEEMS LIKE A LIFETIME AGO SINCE WE WORKED ON CARTOONS TOGETHER.

30 YEARS REALLY SLIPS AWAY, DOESN’T IT?

IF YOU ARE BACK IN TOWN, COME VISIT THE OLD WORKSHOP.

THERE’S SOMETHING I NEED TO SHOW YOU.

YOUR BEST PAL, JOEY DREW’.

You finished reading the letter.

*Snrk*

Well shit.

Did you just read a confession or a love letter? Why not both? You don’t know why, but it feels like one.

“Okay, let’s stop right there. I can’t make jokes on circumstances as these ones”.

What could be so urgent for Joey to write a letter after thirty years of silence?

Should you investigate?

<<The letter could’ve been sent years ago! Henry surely read it; otherwise, it wouldn’t be inside a drawer of his studio, though there’s a possibility he didn’t, I doubt it. He must have seen his friend has written message>>

Okay, sure. Let’s suppose he didn’t pay any mind to the damn thing, you can pretend, now the real issue it’s the location. Joey Drew Studios must be closed (or broken down into pieces, you didn’t know if they decided to demolish the whole building).

“Wake up ___! Face reality, you shouldn’t be fantasizing, this ain’t some silly story with you as a heroine…instead of wasting my time, I shall swallow that damn pill and take some zzz’s”.

You left Henry’s solace and went to bed once again after you swallowed the pill with some water. A dreamless sleep greeted you.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bendy’s POV

“ん乇'丂 ムの刀乇”.

Even though he should be celebrating, the Inkarnate can’t seem to find any joy in his being, no emotion tried to overtake him. Why? He doesn’t feel anything. True, he may not possess all the emotions a human has, but anger, joy, sadness, and hysteria weren’t unbeknownst him. There’s no satisfaction nor sorrow towards his creator’s death, not even an ounce of regret. Ok no, he won’t sense any guilt for what happened to Henry, he deserved to die just as much as Joey, but he was grasping straws in here!

How’s it possible to not perceive the slightest of emotion within himself?

The Ink Demon was turning apathetic in regards to the subject; he didn’t have an answer as to why. One thing he’s sure of, his world turned dull no longer exciting as he thought.

It was as if the little dancing demon had opened his eyes for the first time, after all those years blinded by the dripping ink, before that, he only saw what his mind showed him. He finally realized how monochromatic his world truly is.

All is black and white for the demon’s eyes.

A wave of indifference invades his mind and his mind is fuzzy, he dissolves into his inky form and rests.

However, not for much.

“-aHahaHAhahaHahaHAhaha!”

Alice.

That bitch.

He despises her nearly as much as those liars, yet the little devil darling couldn’t give a damn about her right now. Let her laugh all she wants as the malady she’s. The Angel probably got the word, celebrating, unlike him.

Immersing himself even more inside the ink, he found…peace. He can work with that, serenity aids his jumbled thoughts; darkness envelopes him and swallows his body whole.

<<In the end…I feel empty. Is this how revenge it’s supposed to be like?>>

He can’t respond to that, how could he? He doesn’t even know what’s life supposed to feel like.

<<Their imagination cursed us all with life, they couldn’t take responsibility for their actions and show us how to drive through it>>

Back when he was the small little imp everybody loved, there were all kind of colors, unlike now. The studio felt warm in contrast to all the ink that surrounds it now.

The remains of those old days lurk inside the deep abyss as ink creatures, husks who replaced the humans that worked here.

Thinking about it got him tired, Bendy finds himself drifting from consciousness, he’s falling asleep.

“Was it worth it?”

<<Again that cunt>> Despite his thoughts, the Inkarnate didn’t feel irascible towards the narcissist woman. Actually, there isn’t much for him to perceive.

She’s not in here, she wouldn’t dare to step a foot on his domain. The wench had the nerve of placing her cutouts and posters; he destroyed a few just as she did the same. She is communicating with him using a damaged poster with her face.

“I know you can hear me, demon, don’t fake pretend.”

“Wんﾘ りの ﾘのひ ᄃﾑ尺乇?” He hopes to scare her, even though he knows it won’t work while using his beast form for some reason his speech turns nightmarish. Yet he doesn’t wield it often because of how difficult is controlling his instincts. Thoughts become more primal, talking it’s hard after a few hours transformed in it gets tiring, and he can’t measure his own force. He favors his inky form best: practical and gets the job done.

“I don’t”. So she’s just shitting with him, insufferable.

“Then why ask?”

“Spirit of inquiry. Your relationship intrigues me, up there in Heaven, we get curious as to why you didn’t kill him yourself. And don’t even try to justify your actions. You had many opportunities. The little errand boy nearly ends up killing you, he tried the same with me”.

After listening to what the Angel had to said, his permanent smile turned slowly into a frown. It’s never a good thing when the Lord ain’t wearing one.

“…”

“Well?”

The fallen angel is laughing at him.

“Not even you know the reason behind your acts of mercy!” He remains silent, it’s not like she’s wrong, the little devil does not why he was so resilient with Henry.

After that fiasco, she left him be.

Thanks to Alice’s short visit, Bendy finds questioning why she dropped by. They hate one another, true. She has eyes here and there, but it’s to keep him in line, so he won’t cross an inky limb on her domain. Unlike the female cartoon, he does not have any cutouts, posters, plushies, or ink servants near her place. He wants nothing to do with her. That’s why he finds it so unusual, it’s not like her.

Unless…

She fancies something he has.

<<If that bitch knows what’s good for her, she won’t be picking her nose in my business>>

Later he’ll do his rounds throughout the studio, maybe, the imp will find what she’s searching before she does, whatever it may be, he won’t let her have it.

He’ll make sure of it.

Who knows what her deranged mind has planned; he’s tired of the gruesome scenery this place is in, corpses all around, clones of his ol’ friend bring back unsavory images from the past. Oh, Lawrence, he’s a madman, made satanic circles as a way of showing his devotion towards the black devil. Thanks to Sammy, he has eyes in nearly the entire place.

Yes, he’s aware the musician it’s alive, but Sammy Lawrence continues being of use for him.

<<I’ll take care of him when I wake up…>>

He’s exhausted. However, he stays on his beast form sunken in ink.

The demon’s slumber it’s a peaceful one…

.

   .

   .

   .

   .

   Until you enter his kingdom.

 An animalistic rumble shakes the tinted walls.

 He’s coming for you.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days.

You paced on the issue for three days, until you finally had an answer.

“I’m gonna pay a visit to your ol’ pal, maybe he’s still alive…or not…” You lowered your voice in the last part; Henry called Joey a bastard and accused him of being mentally unstable, you trust his word, but what if…what if he changed? There’s a possibility he redeemed himself and went through a rehabilitation process to help him with his instability.

<<I need to look for the address and from there I’ll see what can be done>>

You googled ‘Joey Drew Studios’ on your phone and within seconds Google Maps showed up, you were going to click at it, but then something catches your eye.

An article and it’s quite old.

‘Joey Drew Studios, also known as the workshop. Is an American corporation and an animation studio of the Bendy franchise, established in 1929.

Founded by Joey Drew and Henry Stein in an unknown full date other than the year of 1929, Joey Drew Studios is located at Broadway, Brooklyn, New York City, New York.

In 1946, Joey Drew Studios was under investigation after reports of hazardous work environments, missing employees, harassment, and excessive back pay, as well the company's danger of being bankrupt, all of which are a result of Joey's mismanagement of the studio. Anonymous employees threatened to make labor unions over the poor conditions, which included unpermitted buildings, hazardous electrical wiring, and a plumbing system prone to bursting. In addition, there were excessive work hours, most of which were unpaid and several animators were unable to see their families in weeks, after being threatened with disciplinary action and termination if they were unable to finish animations on tight schedules.

There were reports of barricaded offices, employees locked up in work spaces, and complaints of crazy malfunctioning machinery. Despite the evidence against the company, Joey Drew remained firm that the studio has done nothing wrong, calling the accusations "preposterous" and "ridiculous", dismissing them as either complaint from menial employees, or feeble attempts by competing studios to discredit Joey.

On August 16, 1959, the law firm known as Snooks, Spitner and Snooks sued Joey Drew, having heard the rumors of Joey's mismanaging of his own workers. 12 days later, the studio was closed down in accordance to legal regulation 11 U.S Code § 1125 (which forbids the misrepresentation of legally established companies) as evident by the bankruptcy report found in Joey's apartment, as well as health and safety concerns directly by the mention of a health and safety board meeting schedule found in the appointment lobby.’

Oof.

<<That’s a lot to take in>>

Why the fuck would Henry’s friend would want to meet at that nightmare show? Has he learned nothing after all this years? And not only that, the sucker it´s/was an abusive prick with his employees!

<<Man, you weren’t joking>>

You fear a screw lose isn’t Joey’s only problem.

<<He sounds like an asshole, I don’t want to put up with his shit...I’ve got enough dealing with people like him on a daily basis. Sure, not everyone it’s an ass and there’s some decent/kind people out there, but handling jerks as the likes of him tires me out>>

Sometimes you aren’t the most patient person, it all depends. But this whole ordeal it’s too much for you.

<<The studio is in the big city, New York it’s fucking expensive. I don’t have the money for travelling that far, I’ll have to bid on my savings and package supplies for the journey>>

Crap. Three days and you didn’t think all of this through! How can you be so stupid?!

Now this looks like one of those impulsive decisions you take for being careless and inattentive.

<<How could Henry put up with me when not even I can stand myself?!>>

You need an adult, that’s what you ought to have beside you.

Your life is such a mess sometimes…

“Before spending money on my idiocy I should read more and prepare myself.” You mutter angrily to yourself.

That’s exactly what you did the next two days, finally you are ready for departing.

You grab your backpack and the car’s keys. “Cellphone in the front pocket, all that’s left is open the door, lock it and call Abby, easy.”

During those two days you made a few calls and went up for gas, it was going to be a long trip from Miami to New York. Sure, it ain’t that extensive, but you’ll be driving by yourself for approximately 20 hours. A place to stay, money, gasoline and food are big girl’s problems. Not counting the money you’ll spend on a cheap motel to rest your head.

“That or make a few stops on gas stations…maybe sleeping in the car won’t be that bad…” The good thing is you have options; you aren’t tied solely to one alternative.  

<<Abby won’t charge me for doing me this favor, another plus>>

She’ll guard the house in your absence and will call if any emergency transpires.

Now, you are free to go.

<<I hope I made a good decision doing this>>

The first 8 hours were a torment, bored and your ass felt numb of sitting for that long, the last time you remained that still was in high school, since you made your schedule. Your feet hurt just as your arms did. You made a stop for eating and going to the bathroom, after that another 8 hours.

Overall, the journey was relaxing, while driving you admired the views offered to you, savoring each sight. It helped you keeping away some melancholy.

You miss Henry, no matter how much you tried to distract yourself with this excursion of yours, the emptiness stays in the back of your mind.

Your wounds are still fresh, you haven’t mourned properly, because you don’t want to. That’s why you are doing this, to keep yourself busy so you won’t think about it. You need it, you ain’t prepared for it yet.

Soon you’ll be.

After a short nap (before that you made many stops, ‘cuz you’re a whining bitch who ain’t strong enough to control her fucking bladder), you started driving again. You have three or four hours left on the road.

Time to listen some music, you activate Bluetooth and connect your phone to the car’s stereo, finally you found a song of your liking in Spotify and play it. You spent the rest of the trip singing along; sometimes you’ll speed up a little bit on the spur of the moment.

Soon you got to your destination, didn’t waste time changing clothes, you collapsed on the bed in the motel and slept for an hour. After that, you washed yourself and got ready for visiting Joey Drew.

“Here goes nothing…”

You regret already coming here, silly you just ruined a change of clothes! Why is there so much ink? You’ll never get out the ink of your shoes, fuck! You have been here for less than ten minutes and all went to shit for you! It doesn’t help this place keeps giving you the heebies-jeebies! Every time you take a step on the creaky wooden floor it feels as if someone is following you, like a slithering sound. The ink splashes keep creeping you out, if it wasn’t black you would think it’s blood, Jesus Christ.

<<Thank God, the lights still work; it would make this place spookier if they didn’t>>

As you venture further deeper into the studio, a beast rumbles, shaking everything around you, more ink drops fall.

At that moment…

…you knew you fucked up.

So you hide.

Your mind provides you one last thought before going high drive

‘WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?! WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?!’

<<FUUU-

[sheriffofmagic]

burgerbang0 prompt if you're still accepting them: burger goes to dasha after meeting vang0 to try to figure out who he is and where he came from. also known as: dasha becomes quickly fond of burger's new weird friend and burger gets in way over his head

let me preface this by saying it is a Mess and that i Tried. idk if i did the fondness thing and the pining is barely there but this turned more into a dasha character study and dfahjkljsg. alright i hope it’s okay

---

Dapper Dasha doesn't have friends. It’s an unspoken rule. She had acquaintances, contacts, even some people who went as far as to call her their "buddy" but she didn't have friends.

Her public persona was as carefully constructed as her face. All designed to leave a specific impression. She was calm, intelligent, mysterious, and, more than anything, impersonal. It was her job to know people but not so much the other way around. 

This was how she preferred it. Better for business and less messy for her personal life. It was lonely at times, sure, but the benefits far outweighed the costs. The internet was unreliable but Dapper Dasha? She knew people. And she could prove more valuable than half the netrunners and hackers in the city if given the proper information (and incentive).

And for the most part she was content, ignoring any cloying feelings of loneliness in favor of the well-earned sense of contentment. Dasha was good at her job and made a damn good living through it, and that seemed to be enough.

But life, or at least a very specific person in her life, had other plans. Burger Chainz had arrived with the same jarring roar as the engine of his car. Speeding up beside her one day along a darkened street, startling her into drawing her gun, he’d rolled down the window and in that dumb, amiable voice of his, asked in earnest for her help. Said he’d heard she was the best in the business. And Dasha was far from vain but, well, something about his dumb mug and sincerity had won her over. The promise of cash wasn’t bad either. Somehow a companionship had formed between them. Dasha refused to use the word “friend”. It was too comfortable, too familiar, and worse it expressed a sense of vulnerability. 

Burger Chainz was nothing if not persistent. Even after Dasha had (to her great displeasure) failed to locate a target for him, she still couldn’t seem to shake him. His lopsided smiles and tendency to fill awkward silences with even more awkward conversation had grown on her like a rash or a particularly infectious disease. Much to her chagrin, she’d grown comfortable with him. Sometimes they would even hang out when they weren’t working on a job. 

It wasn’t even that he was overly optimistic, quite the opposite in fact. Burger Chainz seemed to walk with a permanent weight on his shoulders. A haunting that lurked just behind every slightly strained smile or laugh that came just seconds too late. No, it wasn’t his attitude that had won her over. She’d hardly consider herself won over in the first place. The muscle-bound dummy just never left. Even when she’d proven to be of no use to him. Even when she was intentionally cruel in a way that made others understand it was time to back off. He stuck around. Because despite his outward warmth and charisma, he was profoundly lonely and because, somehow, he knew that deep down Dasha was too.

Somehow all of this had landed Dasha where she was today, Burger standing anxiously in her foyer with a small, friend in shiny spandex pants who looked just as unhappy to be here as Dasha was for the sudden intrusion on her peaceful Tuesday evening. The friend had given her a quick once over when they’d stepped in but since then had only been toying with a band around their wrist. A comm melded into their skin. Burger, as usual, seems completely unaware of the awkward tension brimming between everyone.

“Thanks for lettin’ us in,” he started, “So, Dasha. This is my buddy, Vang0 Bang0.”

He waved his hand at his friend who finally looked up from their arm forming their hands into a V and B symbol respectively, “Vang0 Bang0.”

It took all of Dasha’s willpower to suppress her eyeroll.

“Vang0, this is Dasha.”

Burger is gesticulating needlessly as he talks, a nervous tick Dasha has picked up on, “I was tellin’ him how you’re the best in the business at finding people. Or at least knowing people who know people who can find people.”

He’s speaking in his normal, casual manner but he’s stumbling the same way he does when he tries to comfort someone. Tripping over his words. Dasha glances over at Vang0, who’s running a hand through his platinum blond hair and looking like he’s already bored of the conversation.

Dasha turns around and walks to her living room, knowing Burger will follow. The space is small and sparsely decorated. Minimalist in a way that avoids clutter and discourages any clients from feeling too comfortable. Burger Chainz lumbers toward the couch his friend taking the spot beside him. Close but not too close.

“So who exactly are you looking for?” she asks as she sits down on a small armchair.

“Me.”

Dasha raises a well-manicured eyebrow at him, “You?”

Vang0 glances at Burger briefly, a hint of worry in his eyes but Burger just nods to him reassuringly. Dasha notices the big guy lean more into Vang0’s space as he begins to speak, “I wasn’t always the powerful influencer and household name I am today. Actually, it’s a pretty new development.”

Dasha bites her tongue before she can say she’s never heard of him.

“He’s got the uh, the brain fog thing,” Burger chimes in.

“Amnesia,” Vang0 corrects as he rolls his eyes, “I woke up a few weeks ago in a warehouse. I didn’t have much to go on. Just a job and a name. Until this one found me.”

He nudges Burger with his shoulder and Burger smiles down at his hands. 

Oh, Dasha thinks.

“Don’t remember anything before that. Tried to research it a bit. Didn’t even know where to begin but Vang0 Bang0’s good with computers so I gave it a shot,” he shrugs, “Couldn’t find anything. Yet. But Burger Chainz said you might be able to help out.”

He pauses. There’s more to ask. More she will ask Burger later about all of this but out of professional courtesy, she lets him continue.

“I could do this myself with enough time but he talked me into coming to you. To speed things up.”

Everything about Vang0 projects a manufactured confidence, including his words. They come off noncommittal but Dasha knows people. How they act, how they think. How desperate they all are to feel like they understand the unknowable, careless world they live in. Vang0 projects arrogance but his eyes bounce around the room, often to Burger, and they’re filled with fear.

Vang0 continues when she doesn’t respond immediately, “It’s whatever though. If you can’t do it, I’m more than capable of doing this myself.”

Dasha offers a tightlipped smile and looks at Burger who’s looking right back at her pleadingly, “Can I talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure, you alright here bud?”

“Yup,” Vang0 replies curtly and as Dasha leads Burger into the kitchen she hears Vang0 say, in a much more enthusiastic voice than she’d heard him use thus far, “Vang0 Bang0, what’s up guys-”

She tunes him out, “I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do here.”

“Uh, your job?”

Dasha rolls her eyes, “How am I supposed to do that when he has no contacts? No names? Links? Leads? Nothing with his name attached to it is more than a few weeks old. Where would I even begin?”

Despite the cybernetic red eye Burger was still capable of a compelling puppy dog face. He wasn’t even trying but he looked so goddamn desperate you’d think it was his own identity on the line here, “I don’t know Dash. I’m not a computer guy and I don’t have your connections, I got no clue how this kinda stuff works. But you’re the smartest person I know and Vang0 needs help. He asked me to help him. I can’t let him down. I’m not good for much more than driving but if anyone can help him it’s you.”

His hand reached out like he meant to put it on her shoulder, then lowered as he thought better of it. She wasn’t the touchy-feely type. Instead he just said in his dumb, earnest voice “Please?”

This is why Dapper Dasha didn’t do friends. They convince you to do things you shouldn’t. Things you know will break their heart and ruin your reputation. One meeting with this guy and Dasha knows her odds of finding anything on Vang0 are as good as his own, which is to say basically nonexistent. But Burger came to her for help. He hadn’t done that since the first time they’d met. When she’d failed at her task for the first time in her otherwise successful career. And her she was about to do it again, willingly this time. Because despite all her best intentions, she cared about the big guy. And because it was obvious from the moment he entered her apartment how much he cared for the obnoxious amnesiac streaming nonsense in her living room.

Dasha sighs resolutely and meets Burger’s eyes, he’s smiling like he already knows he’s won.

“I won’t promise anything-”

She’s cut off by Burger pulling her into a tight hug.

“No. Nope. We aren’t doing this get off.”

He lets her go and beams at her, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever. He better pay me. And you owe me one.”

“Of course. You won’t regret this, Dasha. I swear.”

As she thinks of how much she absolutely will regret this, he brushes past her. He sinks onto the couch next to Vang0, putting his hand on the guy’s shoulder as he starts tells him about Dasha’s “process”.

This is going to be the end of my career, she thinks, melodramatically. 

But as she contemplates she watches a small smile grow on Vang0’s face as Burger excitedly talks him through an exaggerated version of the time Dasha had tracked a woman down with nothing more than two digits of her phone number on a dirty napkin. His hands are flying around as he talks and there’s something kinetic in how he talks. There’s a light in his eyes she’s unfamiliar with. One she’s only seen hints of in passing conversation. Her heart damn near clenches as she thinks how far gone her friend is already.

There may be little hope that anything tangible would turn up on Vang0 Bang0’s old self, but if the smile on his face was any indication, Dasha thinks, there may still be hope for these two idiots. And damn if dumb feelings doesn’t make you do stupid, potentially career ruining, things sometimes.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

When You Least Expect It: Part Three

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Jensen x Musician!Reader

A/N: This is a slow burn fic that I have been working on for a while. Its a story I wrote for myself and just wanted to share with everyone. Yes, the “Dee” in the story is who you think, but there is no intended hate on her or their actual marriage. It is a work of fiction, that is all. Part three is from Jensen’s POV. There is also a playlist to go along with the series. 

Series Playlist: “When You Least Expect It” (Spotify)

Series Summary: After a hard breakup, Jensen decides to throw himself into organizing a Music Festival in Austin that is meant to raise money for a few of his most cherished charities and organizations. As he throws himself into planning it, he stumbles upon a spirited, undiscovered performer, who he convinces to come aboard to help plan and coordinate the event with him. What transpires after that takes both Jensen and his new friend, by surprise. But when their respective pasts come back just before the event kicks off in Austin, they will both have to decide if the unexpected feelings are worth perusing, or if they should just walk away and go on with their lives.

Series Warnings: Language, Break-Ups, Angst, Fluff, Smut (that’s it for now)

WC: 3.5K 

*Banner created by me; pics & gifs found online

Jensen was fucking cold.

He didn’t start feeling the chill set into his bones until they made their way back up the beach towards where he left his car. They chatted casually on the walk back, mostly about the festival, and Austin itself, but when they reached her front door he found it hard to say goodbye. Unless he was mistaken, he got the vibe that maybe she didn’t want too, either.

They stood outside her door for another three or four minutes and she finally noticed his body trembling.

“Hey, why don’t you come inside? After all, it is my fault that you’re shivering. I think I have some clothes here that may fit you alright since you’re completely soaked through.”

“It’s fine. I’ll make it back to the hotel alright,” he said through chattering teeth.

“Nonsense, come on. Besides, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next year. Might as well start getting used to you being around all the time.” She winked and unlocked the front door.

Stepping into her bungalow, he felt instantly comfortable in her space. The furniture was older, but it was still in decent shape and very cozy. The couch was draped in oversized fleece blankets with a few plush throw pillows. There were nautical decorations, pictures of fishing boats all over the walls, and even the curtains covering the small kitchen window bore anchors and sailboats. A small hallway divided the room, separating the living room from the eat-in kitchen that led to the bedrooms and single bathroom.

“Cute place,” he said after looking around. “Not exactly what I would have imagined your taste to be.”

She laughed. “Not my taste, at all. This was my dad’s house, long before it was mine. I just never wanted to change it after he passed.”

“Oh,” Jensen replied, “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It was a long time ago, but, thanks…” she trailed off for a moment but came back around. “Let me get you those clothes so do you don’t develop pneumonia on my watch.”

Y/N disappeared down the hallway, and Jensen took the time to really look at the pictures that lined the walls. He saw a small girl, and boy slightly older standing with a man in his forties on the dock. Beside them was a fifty-plus foot fishing boat.

“That’s him,” she said upon her return and pointed to the man in the photo. “That’s my dad, Monty, and that was his boat, Song of the Sea.”

“Cool name. That’s you, then?” he asked, pointing to the girl beside Monty.

“Yep, that’s me, and that’s my brother Dave.”

“Is he a fisherman, too?”

“Nope. He’s a dickhead. I don’t know what he does for a living now. We haven’t talked in years.”

“Oh…”

“Clothes,” she said and handed them out to him. “If you’re hungry I have some leftover pizza in the fridge I can warm up. It’s from Saw Mill.”

“I am down for some pizza,” he smiled, feeling quite content with the direction the evening took, despite his dip in the ocean. “Is there a place I could change?”

“Yeah, down the hall, last door on the left.”

Jensen found the bathroom and stripped out of his clothes. The room was blessedly warm, allowing his skin to unfreeze the moment the wet clothes had been removed. He borrowed one of the towels that had been hanging on the back of the door and used it to dry his hair. Once he had on the fresh set of clothes, he paused and looked at his reflection in the mirror. It was the first chance he had to be alone with his own thoughts since arriving at the Bamboo, and as his own green eyes stared back he didn’t know where to begin processing it all.

Twenty-four hours ago he was laying in his hotel bed, dreaming about some mystery girl, and now he was standing in her house, about to gnaw on some pizza and discuss how she’s going to be working with him over the course of the next year.

Are you out of your fucking mind? He silently asked his reflection. He decided he must be, but he also decided that he didn’t necessarily care. When he searched his genuine feelings, the ones he kept very close to the vest, he was happy. He felt good about making her the offer and even better that she accepted it. The other ones, the tangled mess of clingy, fawning emotions that bubbled so close to the surface were the ones he didn’t want.

You can get to know her, be her friend, without it turning to sex. Certainly, no feelings. This is work. She’s smart and creative and will be an asset to the team bringing this to life, he said to himself, almost like a mantra.

Then, out loud. “It can’t be anything more… It. can’t. Whatever you think you feel… you don’t. It's just--”

A soft knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. “Yeah?”

“Sorry, I just wanted to see if you wanted a beer with your pizza. I have water and some apple juice, or--”

“A beer sounds great,” he replied. “Be out in a minute.”

It was quiet again, and he assumed she must have walked away. Remembering their earlier exchange on the word, he didn’t want to take the chance she would hear him. One beer, one slice of pizza, then back to the hotel and tomorrow back to Vancouver. You got this, his inner voice promised himself.

Two beers and two slices later, Jensen was sitting criss-cross applesauce on Y/N’s floor, with her next to him and a photo album depicting her years in drama club productions in front of them.

“Oh, this one,” she started and pulled it from its plastic sleeve pausing to look at it long enough for one of those soft, reflective smiles to touch her lips. “This is from when we did Grease.”

“That’s you there?”

“Yup. I was the understudy for Sandy. The lead they cast was a healthy specimen, so I got to play one of the Pink Ladies instead.”

“I bet you would have made a kick-ass Sandy,” he teased and took a closer look at the picture.

She snatched it from his fingers and returned it to the album. “Nah, I was way too wild to be Sandy. The girl they cast was purity defined. She did a great job. Frenchie, maybe, or Rizzo… I could have pulled off Rizzo.”

“Now we’re talking. Rizzo, she was my favorite. I always had a thing for the bad girls,” he mused with a devilish grin before finishing off his second beer.

“Want another?” Y/N asked and got up from the floor.

Jensen considered it and waved her off. “Nah, I should probably get back to the hotel.”

“Right…” she mumbled and opened the fridge to grab herself another beer. “I mean, it's after two. If you wanna crash in the spare bedroom, it's open.”

“You’d be okay with that?” He watched her reaction closely. Yes, they had grown close in the day they spent together, and he was oddly comfortable with the idea of crashing at her place. But he didn’t want to seem as if he was continually pushing himself on her.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

“Not sick of me yet?”

“I was sick of you after you spilled the tea all over the table. But,” she paused to shrug and grab a second beer from the fridge. She handed it to him and continued, “now, I dunno, I’m kinda used to ya.”

“Alright, sleepover it is,” he chuckled and sipped at his beer.

He liked Y/N, a lot. Physical attraction aside, she was someone he enjoyed spending time with. She made things easy; the business talk, the ‘get-to-know-you’ banter, all of it. Y/N made just sitting on her floor looking at old pictures fun, and that wasn’t something he’d had much of in his life, as of late. All the drama, and push ‘n pull with Dee has sucked him dry. Fun and easy going hadn't been on his radar in a damn long time.

Jensen was growing more than a little curious about her. She was a mystifying puzzle that he felt compelled to put together so he could see the whole picture of who she was. Yet, he also knew that it wouldn’t be an easy task. Y/N didn’t strike him as the kind of girl that would give away all her secrets or feelings to just anyone. He was going to have to work on it, but if their day together so far had been an indication of her willingness to one day let him in, he felt pretty confident that they could be really good friends.

“So, I gotta ask…” he started, not exactly hesitant on asking, but on how to ask what he wanted to know. “Earlier, when you dared me to polar plunge… why add the song in?”

“Joy to the World?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N closed the album and drew in a subtle and slow deep breath, drawing her knees up into her chest then taking time to consider how to respond. In the quiet of the room, she found Jensen’s eyes and held on to them. He saw hers growing damp at the corners and watched her ignore the one, lone tear that slid down her cheek.

“When I was a kid, I had a bunch of phobias. Some were normal, some, not so much. It got really bad after a while, and my dad tried everything to help me. One day, we were going to the market, and for some reason I was so, so scared to go in. It was summer vacation, and I was gawky and awkward. A bunch of Bennies were hanging out in front and I was petrified to walk past them,” she saw the confusion on his face and clarified. “Bennies are what locals here call the people that come here for the summer.”

Jensen nodded in understanding and then unknowingly mimicked her position and rested his chin on his knees as he listened on.

“Anyway, he said to me… ‘they aren’t going to say a word. I promise’. I said that I didn’t believe him. Trust was scarce in those days. My mom had just left, and everything was upside down. So I even had trouble trusting my dad, the one person I loved more than anyone in the world. He said, ‘Y/N, I’ll bet you anything they don’t’. We finally came to the arrangement that if I was wrong and he was right, then I had to give him the benefit of the doubt the next time something like this came up.”

“And if you were right?” Jensen asked.

“Well, I then got to embarrass him in public by making him walk around and sing Joy to the World. It was the song he hated the most,” she laughed at some long ago memory that she kept to herself, and lingered in it for a while. “But, I don’t know, it just became our thing… he’d say trust me and when it was super important that I did, he would simply say, ‘I bet you Joy to the World that I’m right’.”

Y/N cleared her throat and tightened the grip she had around her legs. This time when she caught Jensen’s gaze, he noticed the tears had finished falling and that her soft smile was directed at him.

“That’s how I knew I could accept this offer and trust you. You did it without question. The fact that you sang the song and committed like you did… I knew my dad would’ve told me to trust you. He would have bet--”

“The world,” Jensen finished for her.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“So, did he have to sing it that first day?”

Y/N chuckled. “Nope. They didn’t even give me a second glance as we walked by.”

“Did he ever have to sing it?”

She lapsed into her contemplative expression, but only for a moment before bringing up her alluring (y/c) eyes to meet his. “Only once. But that’s a story for another time. I think we should take the opportunity to talk about Austin and when this is all going to happen.”

For another hour Jensen and Y/N talked and planned her move to Austin. Exhaustion was finally setting in and neither of them could keep their eyes open. Y/N showed him to the spare room and turned to walk back up the hallway to her own room. Jensen said goodnight, and before he could turn to go it, he saw her pause at her door and look back at him.

“Jensen... I’m sorry if I was cold to you when we first met. I tend to put up a pretty high wall sometimes. I hope you didn’t take it personally.”

“I didn’t.”

“Ok, good. I’m glad the day went the way it did. You surprised me. Not many people can surprise me. I take back what I said earlier. You’re not a shitty actor,” she said with a playful twitch of a smile. “Night, Hollywood.”

Jensen woke a few hours after going to bed and while he wasn’t exactly rested, the four hours he got was enough to energize him to reach the airport. It was a long flight back to Vancouver after all, plenty of time to sleep then. He didn’t want to miss his last chance to see an East Coast sunrise.

Tiptoeing through the bungalow, so as not to wake Y/N, he quietly opened the front door and stepped out into the autumn air. The day was dawning bright with a cotton candy sunrise over the ocean and barely a cloud in sight.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he heard Y/N say.

He whipped around and saw her sitting on the small bench to the side of the house. She had a blanket around her shoulder and a steaming cup in her hands.

“Coffee?” she asked, holding it out to him.

“Bless you,” he sighed gratefully and took the cup. To his surprise, he found she took hers just how he liked his.

She moved over on the bench giving him room to sit and watch the sunrise. He closed his eyes and relished in the luscious taste of the coffee as it warmed his throat.

“Thank you,” he said, handing it back.

“Keep it, that was my third cup,” she chuckled, then reached over to the side of the bench and pulled up her guitar resting it on her lap and lightly strumming the strings.

“Won’t the neighbors complain?”

“They would, but there aren’t any. All these places are summer rentals. Closest year-round neighbors are the Sinatra’s down the beach.”

“Seriously? So, it's just you out here almost all year long?”

“Yup.” She nodded and continued to strum the guitar. The melody she was plucking was familiar, and after a few more beats Jensen came to recognize it.

“That song…” he started and then felt his heart start to beat faster as he realized where he remembered it from. “Its… shit!”

“Well, damn, tell me how you really feel,” she snorted, unsure if she should be offended or laugh.

“No! I Didn't mean it like that. I can’t remember the name of it, but it's familiar as hell. Actually heard it in a dream the other night,” he admitted without realizing how close he came to adding ‘a dream about you, in fact’.

“Oh! It's from Grease, You’re the One That I Want, but like, way slower,” she shrugged. “After talking about the play with you last night, it got stuck in my head. I couldn’t sleep, so I made coffee, grabbed the guitar and came outside to wait for sunrise.”

Y/N looked away from the guitar and over to Jensen. She watched him curiously for a moment, still playing, and with each passing note the song became clearer and clearer in his head. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and he wondered if she felt whatever it was that sat between them. In the span of thirty seconds, he had at least a dozen “I wonder” thoughts cross his mind.

...if her heart is pounding, too

...if she dreamed the song, too

...if she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking about me like I was thinking about her

“I got chills, they’re multiplying, and I’m losing control,” she sang, in a breathy whisper that matched the volume of her guitar. “Cause the power you're supplying….”

Her voice gave him goosebumps across his skin, running from his wrist all the way to his neck.

She trailed off with singing but continued the humming the melody as she plucked the chords and brought her gaze to settle out on the horizon. Jensen wished she had kept singing; he wanted to beg her too, but he was afraid that speaking would break the magic of the moment.

From the other side of the yard, a loud buzzing was coming from Jensen’s car. His brow furrowed trying to recognize what it was, then suddenly jumped up and put the cup down on the bench before jogging through the cold sand to the car. When he came back, his cell was in hand as he was scrolling through messages.

“Completely forgot about this last night,” he mumbled to himself. “Yiiikes.”

“Missed a lot, did ya?” she asked, still strumming.

“Yeah. Looks like there was a change in my flight again. Jared has called at least half a dozen times, and about five texts from work. Good times.”

“Sorry I took you off the grid. Just blame me,” Y/N shrugged.

He watched her for a second and realized how carefree and easy she could be when she was comfortable around someone. There was an aura of calm that surrounded her at times and he wanted to absorb it like a sponge. He felt settled around her, and that was something he could get used too.

“I’m not even a little sorry, though, I guess I should get my ass in gear and get back. But…” he trailed off and went back to his phone, pulling up his calendar, “let’s figure out exactly when I should book your ticket to Austin.”

Y/N stopped strumming and gently rested the guitar on the ground beside the bench. She thought for a minute before replying. “I would need at least two weeks to get my shit together and tie up loose ends. So, let’s say, the 18th?”

“Yeah, that works for me. I may be in Vancouver, but I will make sure everything is all set for you.”

Before Y/N could say anything else, his phone started buzzing again. He answered it and began pacing between the house and the car. To give him some privacy, Y/N grabbed her guitar and went back into the bungalow.

Not five minutes later, Jensen came back inside and began to gather up the rest of his stuff to change, but she waved him off. “You can wear those back. Just junk them when you’re there. They belonged to my brother. Doubt he’ll be here anytime soon.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” she snarked, making it clear brother Dave was a sore subject.

“Alright, well, I guess I should head back. I got the 18th in my calendar, and I will call you when I have more details about the flight and apartment. I’m really looking forward to working with you on this.”

“Same here,” she said and boosted herself to sitting on her kitchen counter. “It's gonna be a good time.”

Jensen had hoped she would see him to the door, and maybe even get a chance to touch her in some way; a handshake, maybe a hug, even. But she didn’t budge from the counter and he wasn't going to push her boundaries.

“Thanks for last night, the whole thing was a lot of fun.” Picking up the car keys from the table he moved towards the door, pausing one last time in hopes she’d come to him,

“It was my pleasure. The guys loved having you at the Bamboo. Save travels, ok? I’ll see you in two weeks.”

And just like that, Jensen felt discouraged, like maybe he had imagined their connection this whole time… had he? He tossed the keys up and caught them, and gave her a firm nod.

“Yes, I will. Two weeks. Take care, Y/N. We’ll talk soon.”

When he was sure she wouldn’t budge, he slipped out of the house and exhaled a rush of air from his lips when he reached the car. He got in, started it up and quickly backed down the dirt lane. Pausing before reversing out to the main drag, he threw it into park and rested his head against the headrest.

“You’re a jackass,” he mumbled to himself. “A grade A, idiotic, jackass.”

Hours later, while Jensen was mid-flight, pensive and unsure, obsessively replaying their entire day and night together, his cell phone started to vibrate from way down in his pocket. When he unlocked it and saw the text notification, he smiled.

From Y/N: “Hope you landed safely. Don’t wanna lose the job before it starts. Take care, Hollywood. Can’t wait for the 18th”

And just like that, he was smiling again.

Good new is, you don’t have to wait long for Part Four!! Its already done and ready to post. Will have it up soon :)

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